


Are You Strong Enough to Stand

by madsthenerdygirl



Series: i carry your heart with me [i carry it in my heart] [5]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But Worse, F/M, Fic Author Found Dead in Her Home, Heavy Angst, I Can't Stress Enough How Sorry I Am, I promise, I'm so sorry, Is This Because I'm Salty About How He's Treated by Canon?, It Will Be All Right in the End, It's Kind of Like Groundhog Day, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Maybe - Freeform, More Like Tragedy OT3, Multi, Oddly Flynn-Centric for a Fic Where He is Only Sort of There, Please Note the Happy Ending Tag, This is a Flynn Appreciation Fic, Trash ot3, Witnesses Report Angry Mob of Flynn Lovers Marching on Doorstep, You All Know Groundhog Day?, You're All Gonna Kill Me for This One, you can't prove anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-12 15:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16875777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: Lucy sank to the ground. Wyatt was just standing there, looking like a statue, a horrible glassy look in his eyes.There was a moment where they were both silent, like they were waiting for the punchline.Then Lucy started to scream.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can all blame captainofthefallen for this one. She came up with the idea and then let me run with it to hurt you all.
> 
> Title is from Florence + the Machine’s “Heavy in Your Arms.”

_The Lusitania ~ May 7 th 1915_

Wyatt stumbled as the ship listed dangerously to the side. “Shit, Flynn, we gotta go.”

“I’m aware,” Flynn said tersely, firing behind them. “You think Lucy convinced the captain?”

“That the operatives are Germans? Yeah, I think so.” Sometimes Wyatt really hated their job. The sinking of the _Lusitania_ by a German torpedo had been what convinced the United States to join World War I. Rittenhouse sought to change that by making sure the ship didn’t sink—so Wyatt and Flynn had sunk the ship themselves.

They tore up the stairs, their feet splashing in the water. The _Lusitania_ took only eighteen minutes to sink. Most people wouldn’t make it.

But they had to.

The Rittenhouse guy chasing them fired again, striking one of the ropes holding some luggage. The ship tilted further and the luggage went sailing towards them.

“Shit!” Wyatt ducked out of the way.

There was a grunt of pain behind him and he whirled around. Flynn was struck in the head, shoulder, and wrist by several pieces of luggage.

“Garcia!” Wyatt grabbed him, yanking him up the passage. Flynn’s temple was bleeding.

“I think it broke my damn wrist,” Flynn admitted, teeth clenched.

Wyatt fired at the guy behind them, Flynn pushing him forward, and they emerged on the deck of the ship.

“Lucy!” he yelled. She was doing her level best to make sure the same people who’d survived last time survived this time, and the people who died stayed dead. Flynn and Wyatt had argued with her that she shouldn’t have to do it, but she’d insisted.

“I can’t simulate a torpedo explosion,” she’d told them. “I’m the historian. I know the names. Let me do my job.”

Neither man had said it out loud, but Wyatt knew that Flynn had been thinking the same thing—the _Hindenburg_.

Nobody else was going to lose a sister. Not if Lucy could help it.

Now Wyatt searched the deck for her, trying to find her among the throng of panicked passengers. “Lucy!”

“Here!” She waved to them. “Here—excuse me that’s my—that’s my husband excuse me—Wyatt! Flynn!”

They hurried over, Flynn stumbling a little. “I think I’m concussed,” he admitted. When Wyatt looked at him, his eyes did seem unfocused.

“Don’t worry about it, just get into the lifeboat—injured man here, injured man!” he yelled, hustling Flynn into the boat.

“We’re on Lifeboat 9,” Lucy explained, dragging them both in. Rufus was helping the crewmen start to lower the ropes. “It’s not fully loaded but will pick up a few extra passengers that fell into the water.”

Wyatt nodded, hugging her tightly. The ship was still listing, though, so he let her go and jumped on the ropes, helping the crewmen while Lucy tended to Flynn.

They plunged into the water, the cold spray coating them, and then there was nothing to do but row and try to pick up who they could. Lucy scrambled up to the prow, calling out names, trying to find the right people. Wyatt sat with Flynn, keeping him warm as Rufus helped row.

Their Lifeboat was back in New York City. It was going to be annoying as hell to get back. They had to hang out in Ireland until they could get another boat back, and by that point Rufus’d had about enough of being looked down on and Lucy’d had about enough of having to sneak Flynn into the room she’d booked with Wyatt, and Wyatt’d had about enough of pretending to not be in love with Flynn, and Flynn’d had enough of having a broken wrist, a concussion, a wrenched shoulder, and bruised ribs.

The one silver lining to the whole deal was that Flynn also got a touch of pneumonia, and staying in Ireland at a boarding house had given him time to get bedrest while Wyatt and Rufus bluffed their way into getting tickets back to New York.

“Oh my God,” Rufus blurted out when they emerged back into the bunker. “I never thought I’d be so pleased to see this place. Hello, beautiful concrete walls! Hello, beautiful electricity! Hello, beautiful air conditioning! Hello, beautiful microwaveable food!”

He grabbed Jiya as she ran up to him, catching her around the waist and kissing her. “And hello, beautiful girlfriend.”

The only reason Rufus and Jiya weren’t married yet was they were waiting until they could go home. Rufus refused to get married without his mom and brother there, “partly because my mom will somehow know I had a wedding without her and she’ll kill me.”

“Lucy!” Amy dashed up, hugging her sister fiercely. Lucy clung to Amy tightly—Wyatt knew she always feared coming home to a world where Amy had once again disappeared.

“Flynn needs a proper cast,” Wyatt said, indicating Flynn’s wrist. “And maybe a scan?”

“It was a mild concussion, Wyatt. I’m fine now.”

“He had a migraine for days.”

“Why did I marry you? I married a traitor.”

Denise gestured for Flynn to follow her while Lucy and Wyatt went to get reacquainted with the wonderful invention of the warm shower, and Rufus had a proper reunion with Jiya in the bedroom.

Flynn was—to his great frustration—benched for another couple of weeks until his wrist finished healing and his shoulder and ribs weren’t bruised anymore.

He passed his wedding ring to Lucy when the alarm went off. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” he warned them.

Wyatt kissed him, unable to stop himself from thinking _God, I love this stupid man_. “Try not to drive everyone too crazy.”

Lucy kissed Flynn’s mouth, then his scraped knuckles. “We’ll be back.”

“Be safe. Both of you.”

Rufus was driving, and Dave taking the fourth spot. “Bon voyage!” Amy said dramatically, waving a paper towel like it was a handkerchief and pretending to dab away tears from her cheeks. “I shall write to you faithfully, every day!”

Dave blew her a kiss that turned into the middle finger, then closed the Lifeboat door. “All right,” Rufus said, starting it up. “Off we go.”

 

* * *

 

“Just once,” Rufus said as he and Lucy ran, “I’d like to not get shot at during one of these. I have to deal with that in the present day too.”

“If it’s any consolation, right now you’re getting shot at for semi-legitimate reasons and not because you walked down the street in a hoodie?” Lucy replied.

“Ah, yes, because we all know semi-legitimate bullets hurt so much less than ludicrously racially motivated ones.”

They ducked around the corner and she nearly ran smack into Wyatt and Dave. “Behind us!”

Both men stepped out and began returning fire. “Got him!” Wyatt said—and then paused.

“What is it?” Lucy asked.

“Nothing. The guy I shot—that was the sleeper agent, right?”

“Yes.”

“I thought…” Wyatt shook his head. “Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing.”

“I thought he was on the _Lusitania_ , that’s all.”

“Oh. Well, he could’ve been on it and then posted here. Only a week for us but ten years or whatever for him.”

“Fair enough.”

Ugh, she couldn’t wait to get out of these skirts. Time travel had given her a huge new appreciation for pants.

She hopped out of the Lifeboat. “Where’s Garcia, he needs to hear…”

Someone made a pained noise and she froze.

Denise, Amy, Jiya, Mason…

“Where’s Flynn?” she asked. Was he asleep?

Denise’s eyebrows raised and Mason and Jiya exchanged horrified looks. Lucy felt Wyatt come up next to her. “Hey, where’s Garcia?”

Amy must’ve been the one who made the noise, because she had her hand clapped over her mouth. She dropped her hand. “Luce? You’re—you’re going to want to sit down.”

“What’s wrong?” Her stomach was twisting and she felt up, felt Flynn’s ring on the chain around her neck…

“It didn’t happen for you,” Mason said slowly.

“ _What_ didn’t happen?” Wyatt’s voice cracked, a sure sign he was panicking.

Did Flynn not exist? Had he never joined the team? Was he still in jail?

“Lucy…” Denise sighed, dropping her arms and taking a step forward, like she was going to try and give her a hug. “Flynn’s dead.”

A kind of hysterical laugh escaped her. “No—no he’s not.”

“He died on the _Lusitania_ ,” Amy said, her voice scraped raw. “Just—just last week.”

Lucy sank to the ground. Wyatt was just standing there, looking like a statue, a horrible glassy look in his eyes.

There was a moment where they were both silent, like they were waiting for the punchline.

Then Lucy started to scream.

“You’re lying!” The words were torn out of her. “You’re lying! You’re lying!”

Wyatt and Amy moved at the same time, Wyatt getting his arms around her and yanking her into his chest as Amy took her hands, squeezing them.

“You’re a liar!” Lucy was still screaming. “You’re—you’re a liar, you’re lying, you’re a—f-filthy l-liar you’re lying you—have—to—be—lying—”

She started hiccuping, sobbing and sucking in breaths.

“Breathe, honey, you have to breathe,” Wyatt said. Tears were sliding out of his eyes too but if there was one thing that made him shove aside any emotions he might be feeling it was Lucy crying and in pain. “In and out, breathe, honey, please breathe.”

She couldn’t—she couldn’t—not after losing Amy and getting her back only to have her held captive by Rittenhouse for months, not after having Wyatt and losing him, not after Wyatt not existing and nearly losing Flynn over it too, not after months of being in the middle, not after her mom, not after everything, she couldn’t—she couldn’t she had to break there was only so far she could bend, there was only so many rocks she could take piled onto her chest she had to break at some point—

“Lucy, Lucy please,” Amy said, squeezing her hands. “Just breathe with me, Lucy.”

She couldn’t breathe, there was no air, she couldn’t breathe—this couldn’t be true, it wouldn’t be true, she couldn’t lose one more person, Flynn, Flynn, Flynn, where was Flynn—

She didn’t even realize she was screaming his name out loud until she heard Wyatt say, “He’s not here, Lucy, he’s not here, I’m sorry, I’m sorry honey he’s not here, Luce, please,” but that couldn’t be true, he had to be here, he had to—

“Hold her still.”

Something pricked her, a needle, and then everything swam and went black.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Lusitania ~ May 7 th, 1915_

Flynn pushed Wyatt ahead of him as he ran, one of the Rittenhouse goons hot on their tail. The ship lurched again, water starting to leak in and splash around their feet. Fighting the Rittenhouse guys who’d been trying to keep the U.S. out of the war but preventing the _Lusitania_ sinking was now number two priority.

Number one priority was getting off this ship alive.

“We have eight minutes,” Flynn said.

They reached some racks of luggage and a bullet whizzed by Wyatt’s ear. He cursed, ducking. This damn guy was fast, holy shit.

Then he heard a yell and the sound of two people crashing to the ground.

Wyatt turned, pulling out his gun.

The Rittenhouse guy had tackled Flynn and the two of them were now tussling on the water-soaked floor. There was about an inch of water now, and steadily rising. “Hey!” Wyatt yelled, trying to get the guy’s attention. He couldn’t get a shot off without hurting Flynn.

Flynn grabbed the guy by the collar, punching him. The Rittenhouse agent twisted out of Flynn’s grip, staggering to his feet. Flynn got to his just as the guy pulled his gun.

Fuck, Wyatt had to fire, he couldn’t let the guy get Flynn. He raised his gun, he had a shot—

The ship lurched again, luggage flying towards all three of them.

Wyatt’s finger was already on the trigger.

The gun went off.

Luggage rained down on them, pummeling them. Wyatt yelled in pain as one hit his ankle and another his shoulder. “Flynn!”

He opened his eyes, panting.

Flynn was staring at Wyatt. “You—you all—right?” He couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Then Wyatt saw why.

A bright, blooming flower of red was spreading on Flynn’s chest.

“No,” Wyatt croaked out.

Flynn saw Wyatt staring at him, then looked down. “Oh.”

He staggered. Wyatt just managed to catch him. There was three inches of water now.

The Rittenhouse agent got up, saw the situation, and decided to book it. Wyatt grabbed his gun, firing one, two, three, four, five times until his gun clicked uselessly. He didn’t know if he’d hit the bastard or not.

“Wyatt.”

He turned his attention back to Flynn. “Hey. Hey, you—you gotta get up.”

Flynn licked his lips. His tongue was a bright, horrible red, slick with blood. “You have to go. No—no time.”

“No, no, no, fuck I’m not leaving you.” He tried to lift him, but Flynn was fucking deadweight. “Garcia, please, I’m so sorry, fuck I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean— _fuck_.”

“’s okay,” Flynn said. Fuck, Wyatt couldn’t see, his vision was blurring. He couldn’t be crying, he had to focus, he had to get Flynn out of there. “Hey, Wyatt, Wyatt, _darling_ , look at me.”

The use of the endearment in English startled him, and he looked up into Flynn’s face. “You have to—to go,” Flynn insisted.

“We can get you help—”

“I’ll be—dead before—a hospital, even if doctors these days could—could do anything.”

Wyatt pressed his hand to Flynn’s chest, trying uselessly to stop the bleeding. “Garcia, please…”

Flynn fumbled, and it took a minute for Wyatt to realize what he was doing—taking off his wedding ring. “Lucy.”

He pressed the ring into Wyatt’s hand. Wyatt grabbed onto him, pressing their foreheads together. “Garcia, no, no, you’re staying right here, do you hear me? Fuck, you’re—you’re getting the fuck onto your feet, Flynn _please_ , Garcia don’t do this, I’m so sorry please don’t—don’t leave me don’t—”

He realized he couldn’t feel Flynn breathing. _No_. He shook him, feeling for a pulse, trying to do chest compressions but that just made more blood leak out—

Six inches of water. The ship tipped dangerously.

“Fuck,” Wyatt spat, not even recognizing his own voice. He clutched the ring until it dug into his palm. He didn’t want to go, he didn’t—he wanted to just curl up here and fucking die, he’d just—he’d shot his husband, _he’d killed his husband_ —

Lucy. He couldn’t leave her alone.

How the fuck was he supposed to tell her? How was she ever supposed to forgive him?

Wyatt wrenched himself away and ran up the hallway. If he didn’t make himself leave, if he didn’t run, he’d stay there until the water closed over his head.

Lucy was up on the deck with Rufus. “Wyatt!” she yelled. “Excuse me that’s—that’s my husband, excuse me—Wyatt!”

He ran up to her. She took in the blood all over his clothes and her eyes went wide. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No, Luce, I’m—”

“Where’s Garcia?”

Wyatt swallowed, air sticking in his throat like a thousand tiny knives. “He’s not coming, honey.”

Lucy stared at him. “What do you mean he’s not coming?”

Wyatt held out the ring.

Lucy made to run back to the inside of the ship but Wyatt caught her around the waist, practically throwing her at Rufus. “Get her onto the lifeboat!”

“No!” Lucy fought like a cat, scratching and kicking. “No, no, no, Wyatt, don’t you—don’t you tell me—he’s not—Garcia!” She started screaming his name over and over again.

“Her husband was down there,” Wyatt said quickly to one of the sailors staring at them. He helped Rufus haul Lucy onto Lifeboat Nine. She screamed and yelled the whole time, trying to get back onto the ship, until they launched off the side.

Then she went silent, just staring as the _Lusitania_ split and sank into the ocean.

The ship sank in eighteen minutes, Wyatt remembered. Eighteen minutes, and it was like it had never been there.

Like Flynn had never been there.

He pulled Lucy into him, holding her, but she still didn’t say a word.

She didn’t say anything in all the weeks it took them to get back home.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt couldn’t get Lucy out of bed.

Amy was pinch hitting for the time being—she even went on a mission just her and Jiya, since they were a good few years younger than everyone else. Dave was just fine as another soldier.

So at least the missions were… fine. But Lucy—she was just lying there. She barely ate. She rarely cried, but she wasn’t doing anything else, either.

The only time she showed signs of life was when Wyatt would come back from a mission and she’d pull him into her arms, shaking, holding onto him, clearly relieved that he’d actually come back.

“C’mon, honey,” he’d beg her. “You have to get up. Flynn wouldn’t want this.”

Lucy’s laugh was bitter and hysterical. “It doesn’t matter what Flynn would’ve wanted. Flynn would’ve wanted to be alive.”

It was almost worse than the ache in his chest. He wanted so badly for Flynn to be there—Flynn would know what to do. Sometimes he felt like if he looked over his shoulder Flynn would be there, arms folded, leaning against something like he was waiting for somebody to take a picture, a soft smile on his face.

But then he’d look over his shoulder and the space would be empty.

Lucy, though… Lucy just seemed to have given up. Like this was it, the last straw, and she just couldn’t digest any more loss. Wyatt wanted to shake her, to scream, and half the time he woke up in a cold sweat because he’d dreamt that Lucy had died in the night, just given up on life and gone.

He’d just lost his husband. He couldn’t lose his wife.

One time he got spectacularly drunk in the living room and slurred it all out to Rufus and Dave.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Rufus noted, taking the bottle from him.

“I just—I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his tongue feeling thick and clumsy in his mouth. He hadn’t been this drunk since… Jesus, since back when he’d been married to Jess. “It’s like—someone gets shot you fucking do chest compressions and you sew ‘em up y’know but how do you jumpstart a fucking spirit it’s like—I don’t even know.”

Dave passed him some tissues and that was when Wyatt realized he was crying. “I don’t even know how he—in our timeline he was alive, he came back _alive_ …”

“Nobody knows,” Dave said. “You were the only one there and you wouldn’t take about it.”

“I don’t know how to help her. I was shit when Jess died.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Flynn would know what to say but he’s not fucking here, is he?”

“Just be there for her,” Rufus suggested.

“She doesn’t want me. She wants him, and I can’t be him. She always—took me a while to see it was both of them for me but she always knew, it was always both of us for her. She can’t—she needs him.”

“Lucy’s been through a lot,” Dave said, his voice cautious. “This was probably just… the last straw.”

“It can’t be the last straw!” Wyatt exploded. “She has to keep going, I’m not gonna let her die too!”

He sank back into the couch. “She’s gonna die inside and I can’t—I can’t let that happen.”

“Everything all right?” Jiya asked.

The men all turned to look at her. She was standing in the doorway to the main area, a bathrobe wrapped around her.

“Oh, hey babe, sorry we woke you,” Rufus said, getting up and walking over to her. Jiya accepted his hug and the kiss he planted on the top of her head but was looking right at Wyatt.

“You’re worried about Lucy?” she asked.

“She’s depressed,” Dave said, as if this was new information and none of them had spent the last two weeks noticing that Lucy wasn’t getting out of bed and had taken to staring at the wall twenty-four seven.

“How’s she with you?” Jiya asked, looking at Wyatt.

“Nonresponsive.”

“It’ll take time for her to understand,” Jiya said. “But she won’t blame you forever. She loves you.”

Everyone stared at her. Jiya stared back. “What?”

“…why would Lucy blame me?” Wyatt asked. Because Flynn had died instead of him? No, that was a dangerous train of thought to go down. Lucy had stuck by him, she’d been loyal to him. He wouldn’t doubt her love, not now.

Jiya flushed a little. “I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said—I thought—”

“Did you have a vision?” Rufus asked, his voice slow and serious.

Jiya nodded. “I guess I thought—I’m sorry, I forgot that—you might, you’re on a different timeline.”

Wyatt swallowed hard. “What happened?”

Jiya took a deep breath. “In our timeline, this timeline where Flynn died… you killed him.”

 

* * *

 

Lucy heard the bedroom door creak open. She alternated between sleeping all day and being unable to sleep at all, and she didn’t know which was worse.

The bed dipped as Wyatt climbed in. “Hey, Luce, I know you’re awake.”

“You’ve been drinking.” She rolled over to look at him. Sometimes words were there like normal, but sometimes now they weren’t there at all. Or they were there but she couldn’t seem to go from thinking them to saying them.

“’m sorry,” Wyatt slurred. “But this—this is important, okay, I gotta tell you or I’ll get stupid and I won’t and you need to know.”

“What is it?”

Wyatt took a deep breath, which he promptly choked on. He looked away, wiping at his eyes. “It’s my fault Flynn’s dead.”

“What?” She sat up.

Wyatt looked back at her—he looked absolutely miserable. “Jiya told me. She saw it, in a vision. I was trying to hit this guy attacking Flynn and instead I hit him. In the chest, she said he died in under two minutes.”

It was like a gigantic cavern had opened in front of her, a pit that was actively drawing her in to swallow her whole. Wyatt’s red-rimmed eyes searched her face. “Lucy please don’t hate me,” he whispered. “Please, please don’t hate me, I never would’ve—I love him I never, I _never_ —”

She knew she was supposed to hug him and tell him that of course she didn’t hate him, that it was a horrible accident, that she forgave him even if she couldn't forgive fate.

But she couldn’t.

So she just lay back down and stared at the ceiling.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Lusitania ~ May 7 th, 1915_

God dammit, this Rittenhouse guy was fast. Was cardio a new requirement for all of Rittenhouse hopefuls? Did they have to run a hundred-meter dash or something?

Wyatt nearly lost his balance as the ship lurched. “Eight minutes,” Flynn said behind him, pushing Wyatt forward.

There was a sudden yell and a crash and he turned to see the Rittenhouse agent had jumped Flynn. They tussled on the floor—the floor rapidly filling with water. Shit.

Wyatt raised his gun. “Flynn!”

Flynn clocked the guy, but then the agent managed to slip out of Flynn’s grasp and stagger to his feet. Wyatt fired—just as the man leapt forward and caught Flynn around the waist again.

The luggage went flying into them as the ship tilted even more. Three inches of water at their feet now, fuck. Wyatt groaned, his body battered. “Flynn…”

“I’m here,” Flynn replied, sounding about as shitty as Wyatt felt.

When Wyatt got to his feet he saw that there was a large piece of luggage on top of Flynn, as well as the Rittenhouse idiot, who looked like he’d been knocked out cold by a flying carpet bag.

Wyatt hauled the guy and the luggage off of Flynn, helping him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

They ran up onto the deck, where it was—not surprisingly—chaos. Wyatt searched the deck for Lucy, trying to find her among the throng of panicked passengers. “Lucy!”

“Here!” She waved to them. “Here—excuse me that’s my—that’s my husband excuse me—Wyatt! Flynn!”

They hurried over, Flynn stumbling a little. Wyatt turned back to look at him.

Flynn was looking down at his side in confusion. He reached under his coat—and then pulled his hand out again, his fingers wet with blood.

Wyatt caught him as Flynn’s knees gave out. Lucy gave a small cry. “Get him into the lifeboat,” Wyatt grunted. “Injured man, here, injured man!”

“We’re on Lifeboat 9,” Lucy said, getting Flynn’s arm around her shoulders and helping him step in. Flynn’s face was the color of curdled milk. “It’s not fully loaded but will pick up a few extra passengers that fell into the water.”

Flynn was a deadweight as they sat down on the lifeboat. “Lucy…” he rasped. He reached down, working off his wedding ring and passing it to her.

“What—no,” Lucy said, the implication hitting her. “Flynn, Flynn no—how did he get shot? How?”

A horrible, twisting, sinking feeling, like tentacles reaching up from the deep and then grabbing him and dragging him down, came alive in Wyatt’s stomach.

He’d fired his gun right as the guy leapt at Flynn. He must have—somehow—

“Stay with us,” he said, trying to put pressure on the wound. “Flynn, Garcia, please, stay with us.”

Lucy used her handkerchief to pat down Flynn’s sweating face. “Hey, hey, handsome, stay with us, you hold on, hold on—”

“Can’t—take up too much—dying man can’t take—the seat of someone, you have to save,” Flynn gasped out.

“You’re staying right here,” Lucy said stubbornly. “Right here, you hear me?”

Panic clawed at Wyatt’s throat. “Garcia please don’t go, fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry don’t go please, please, I love you—”

Flynn didn’t speak, but he kissed the heel of Lucy’s hand when it brushed against his lips. Her skin now had a red spot on it. Blood. Flynn turned his eyes onto Wyatt, reaching up clumsily, grabbing a handful of Wyatt’s shirt at the shoulder, then his neck, then his face, his thumb stroking the skin with unbearable tenderness—

Flynn’s hand fell and his eyes went glassy.

The scream Lucy gave echoed in Wyatt’s ears for days.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt avoided Lucy as best he could.

He didn’t blame her in the slightest for being angry with him. It gutted him to tell her the truth last night and to watch her turn away and stare blankly up at the ceiling. He wished he knew how to tell her that it was all right, that he could move his things out if that was what she wanted, that she couldn’t possibly hate him any more than he hated himself. His other self. What did it matter? He’d done this.

The one strange, sort of upside to avoiding Lucy was that he spent more time with everyone else, which meant that he noticed he wasn’t the only one in a funk. Everyone was quieter. A few times Rufus turned as if to say something to someone he thought was next to him, only to clear his throat and fall silent. Wyatt ran into Jiya once as she emerged from the bathroom, her eyes red and puffy. Denise was softer in tone but firmer in her rules. Mason drank a little more. Even Dave’s perpetual optimism wasn’t as energetic as usual.

It finally occurred to Wyatt, far too late, that he and Lucy hadn’t been the only ones to care about Flynn.

“You okay?” he asked Rufus one morning. He was trying to still make sure that Lucy ate, even as he tried not to impose on her space and to volunteer for missions so she wouldn’t have to see him.

Rufus shrugged. “Dunno, man. This is the first time… I mean you lost me but from what you all said I came right back. And I sure don't remember any of it. When you're the one who's dead, you don't have to mourn, that's everyone else’s job. This is—yeah. He became a really good friend. And Jiya, I don’t think she knew how much she looked up to him until he was gone so that’s eating at her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Wyatt, you didn’t—”

“But I did. I did.”

“It was an accident. You were on a sinking ship in a firefight. Flynn wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

“No, he’d want to be alive,” Wyatt said, repeating Lucy’s words.

Rufus’s face fell. “Just—try not to drown yourself too much in the self-loathing, okay buddy? The rest of us still happen to like you, whether you think that’s as smart choice or not.”

He grabbed his cereal bowl and walked past, lightly patting Wyatt on the shoulder as he passed by.

 

* * *

 

Her body felt heavy. So very heavy.

The problem was that she wanted to feel things, she wanted to have the energy to get up, she wanted—but she couldn’t. It was like suddenly everything was on the other side of a wall, or at the top of a pit that she’d fallen into and didn’t know how to climb out of, the walls slippery, no ladder, sliding down every time she tried.

Wyatt had taken to avoiding her. She could only assume it was not knowing how to deal with… whatever this was. Did he think that just giving her space would make it all better? That she’d take a week and then reemerge ready to face the day?

Fuck him, if that was what he thought.

She kept waiting for them to come back from a mission and have Garcia back. Every time she heard the Lifeboat _whoosh_ away, she waited, and waited, and waited.

Like now.

She wasn’t sure who’d gone, except that Wyatt was one of them. He’d been volunteering for every mission lately. She hated him leaving, terrified she’d forget about him or that he’d die and that like Flynn she wouldn’t even be there for it. Those were the only moments they still felt like two people in love—when he came back and she hugged him and felt something warm and relieved in her chest.

Then it would all subside back into the gray swath of nothing.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and her heart shot up into her throat. Garcia?

Amy slipped into the room. “Hey, I—oh no, oh don’t cry, Lucy.”

She crossed over and sat on the bed, draping herself over Lucy, holding her tight. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t Amy’s fault, but she didn’t know how to say that. She let her sister stroke her hair, a stark reversal of their childhood, when Amy would have nightmares and Lucy was the one to comfort her.

“Wyatt and I talked,” Amy said. “We were thinking—I’d sleep in here with you and he’d move in with Dave, just for a little while. Would you like that?”

Why did it matter if she liked it? It was Wyatt pulling away, not her. He didn’t want to do this, them, anymore, not her.

Amy continued stroking her hair. “He’s worried for you. We all are. He thinks you hate him.” Her fingers never stopped slowly working out the tangles. “I know you don’t. You couldn’t even hate Mom. But he thinks you want him away from you, so he’s moving in with Dave.”

She paused, staring off at the floor for a moment as she gathered her words. “I think that maybe you need some time away,” she said, carefully, “because he loves Flynn like you do, and sometimes, that just creates an… echo of grief, passing it back and forth.” Amy’s voice wavered. “Not that I don’t miss him too…”

Lucy watched as her sister was the brave one and swallowed down her emotions. It was like Amy was the older sibling now. “We all miss him. But you two miss him the exact same way. And I think you each maybe need some time to get a hold of that without turning it into, um, codependency.”

“You think we’d be codependent?” Her voice was rough and scratchy from not using it.

Amy shrugged, one shoulder bobbing up then down. “I think you two need Flynn and maybe if you’d never had him it would be one thing but losing him makes things unbalanced. But I’m not a therapist. I’m your sister. And you’re hurting. So I want to share a room with you for a while.”

Lucy reached out, feeling sluggish, grasping Amy’s hand. “Okay.”

“Good.” Amy bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll get my stuff, all right?”

“Does Wyatt really think I hate him?”

Amy paused. “He hates himself right now,” she said. “Or that’s what Dave tells me. And so I think he’s projecting that onto you. But you also—you don’t—” Amy took a deep breath. “You aren’t talking to anyone. Or reacting to anyone. You don’t get out of bed. So when you didn’t… he told me you didn’t react when he told you what he did, and I think he took your lack of response as a rejection of him.”

Lucy nodded. She knew she’d have to fix it. Just like she knew she had to take a shower, and eat, and start going on missions again.

Just not yet.

 

* * *

 

Denise’s Mom Mode activated about a week after that.

Wyatt, who’d been having a cup of coffee with Dave—no hazelnut because if he tasted that he thought he might either cry or puke and he wasn’t sure he wanted to do either in front of everyone over a damn cup of coffee—jumped when there was an indignant yell from Lucy.

He ran, dropping the mug in the sink, his heart thundering. He couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong, why she was yelling, but that wasn’t going to stop him when all of his instincts to protect were screaming at him.

Dave was at his heels and he saw Rufus and Jiya emerge from their bedroom, Mason coming around the corner, all of them staring as Denise literally, arms around her waist, carried Lucy out of the bedroom.

“What the fuck?” Wyatt blurted out.

Denise ignored him and marched right into the bathroom with Lucy, kicking the door closed behind her.

A moment later they all heard the shower start up.

About three minutes after that, Denise emerged, her clothes wet, her face placid. “There’s going to be a team arriving in about an hour, so don’t panic if you hear the front door alarm, I’m bringing in a therapist. Anyone else who wants to talk to her can sign up.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Mason asked, apparently still half asleep.

“Lucy’s getting a therapist,” Denise said firmly. “And she might also get some pills for the depression, and if so all of you need to help make sure she takes them.”

Then she walked into the kitchen.

The others all stared at one another, then followed her like a group of confused sheep.

Denise was pulling open drawers and cupboards, getting out eggs and bacon and orange juice.

Wyatt had never seen Denise cook in his life. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making Lucy breakfast, what’s it look like I’m doing?” Denise snapped. “Jiya, please go make sure she doesn’t drown herself in there. Wyatt, wash your damn bedsheets.”

Wyatt was starting to see what Denise was getting at, but even if he hadn’t been, he had a healthy fear of her, and went to do as she asked.

Lucy emerged from the shower clean, energized, and about as happy as a half-drowned cat. She looked equally as happy with the meal Denise set in front of her.

“After this, you’re cleaning your room, and the bathroom,” Denise told her.

“What am I, twelve?”

“Cleaning is a mentally healthy task. You’re productive, you feel accomplished, clean rooms improve your mental state, and you’re physically busy so you can’t get lost in your thoughts. Now eat or I’ll make you eat.”

Lucy took in the terrifying gleam in Denise’s eye and took the sulkiest, most passive-aggressive bite of scrambled eggs known to man.

Everyone else wisely scattered, but Wyatt couldn’t quite bring himself to leave. Whatever was going down here didn’t exactly involve him, but Lucy was his wife and this was a shared grief and he wanted to be there and he needed to know whatever the hell else Denise was planning, dammit.

So he hovered a few feet away like a dork.

Lucy stared Denise down as she deliberately and annoyingly slowly ate the food, looking like it choked her with every bite. Denise planted her hands on the table, her gaze like steel.

“Listen to me very carefully,” she said, her voice low and firm enough to stop an advancing tank in its tracks. “I could give you some bullshit speech about how Flynn wouldn’t want you to be like this and how he’d want you to be happy. But we don’t just owe the dead, Lucy. We owe the living. We owe the other people who are still in our lives. You have a sister, and a husband, and friends, and me. And none of us are going to let you do this to yourself because you might have lost someone but so did we and we’re not all that keen on losing someone else. You want to have a temper tantrum every step of the way, then go ahead. I’ve raised two stubborn ass kids and I can take it. But you are getting therapy, and you’re getting medication, and you’re eating and taking care of your hygiene and your personal space, and if I have to monitor you every day like a five-year-old to get you to do it, then so be it. Are we clear?”

Wyatt watched as the two women stared each other down for what felt like hours.

Then Lucy’s bottom lip quavered.

Denise sighed and pulled Lucy into a hug as Lucy started crying. “That’s it, baby girl, just let it all out,” Denise soothed, rubbing her back. “We’re going to get you better.”

Wyatt swallowed around the lump in his throat. He wanted to cross over, to hug Lucy too, to promise her that he’d help her in whatever way she needed.

But he was no longer sure if she’d want him for that.

He nodded in thanks at Denise instead and left, leaving Denise to it.


	4. Chapter 4

_The Lusitania ~ May 7 th, 1915_

 

Wyatt stumbled as the ship listed dangerously to the side. “Shit, Flynn, we gotta go.”

“I’m aware,” Flynn said tersely, firing behind them. “You think Lucy convinced the captain?”

“That the operatives are Germans? Yeah, I think so.” Sometimes Wyatt really hated their job. The sinking of the  _Lusitania_  by a German torpedo had been what convinced the United States to join World War I. Rittenhouse sought to change that by making sure the ship didn’t sink—so Wyatt and Flynn had sunk the ship themselves.

They tore up the stairs, their feet splashing in the water. The  _Lusitania_ took only eighteen minutes to sink. Most people wouldn’t make it.

But they had to.

Flynn shoved Wyatt ahead of him and they just got past the luggage rack when the Rittenhouse guy chasing them fired again. Wyatt heard his gun click uselessly a moment after, and then there was a yell.

Wyatt whirled around to see the Rittenhouse agent had tackled Flynn. “Run!” Flynn ordered, tussling with the guy.

There was about an inch of water now, and steadily rising. “Hey!” Wyatt yelled, trying to get the guy’s attention. He couldn’t get a shot off without hurting Flynn.

Flynn grabbed the guy by the collar, punching him. The Rittenhouse agent twisted out of Flynn’s grip, staggering to his feet. Flynn got to his just as the guy pulled his gun.

Fuck, Wyatt had to fire, he couldn’t let the guy get Flynn. He raised his gun, he had a shot—

The ship lurched again and luggage flew off the racks, one of them striking the Rittenhouse agent in the head, but Wyatt’s finger was already on the trigger.

The gun went off.

Flynn shoved the Rittenhouse guy off of himself and accepted Wyatt’s hand up. “You okay?” Wyatt asked, panting. They were standing in three inches of water now.

“I’m good, let’s go,” Flynn replied, nodding.

Wyatt turned and hurried up the steps.

“Lucy!” he yelled. She was doing her level best to make sure the same people who’d survived last time survived this time, and the people who died stayed dead. Flynn and Wyatt had argued with her that she shouldn’t have to do it, but she’d insisted.

Now Wyatt searched the deck for her, trying to find her among the throng of panicked passengers. “Lucy!”

“Here!” She waved to them. “Here—excuse me that’s my—that’s my husband excuse me—Wyatt! Flynn!”

They hurried over, Flynn stumbling a little. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Go.”

“You must’ve gotten hit.” Wyatt grabbed him. “Injured man here, injured man!” he yelled, hustling Flynn into the boat.

“We’re on Lifeboat 9,” Lucy explained, dragging them both in. Rufus was helping the crewmen start to lower the ropes. “It’s not fully loaded but will pick up a few extra passengers that fell into the water.”

Wyatt nodded, hugging her tightly. The ship was still listing, though, so he let her go and jumped on the ropes, helping the crewmen.

And then he glanced back—and saw Flynn looking down at his side, wincing, shifting his coat over to hide…

Wyatt abandoned the crew. “Garcia.”

Lucy looked over too. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” Wyatt grabbed Flynn’s coat and wrenched it open.

Flynn’s side was soaked in blood.

Lucy gave a tiny, fearful sound that was almost scarier than if she’d screamed.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Flynn said, his voice low.

“And why not?”

“Because there’s nothing we can do,” he hissed.

“What do you mean there’s nothing we can—”

“It’s through and through but we don’t have any medical supplies—”

“So you were just going to pass out and hope we didn’t notice you’d died?” Lucy whispered ferociously.

Flynn took her hand. “ _Moja draga, cher_ , please.”

“Don’t you ‘please’ me Garcia Flynn—”

“I didn’t want my last minutes with you to be you crying over me,” Flynn admitted.

Lucy stared at him for a moment, her mouth open, then buried her face into his chest. Flynn winced, his eyes sliding over to Wyatt.

The Rittenhouse agent had been out of bullets. The last one had hit the ropes holding the luggage. That meant that…

“Oh God,” Wyatt croaked.

Flynn wrapped an arm around Lucy as she clung to him, his other hand reaching out for Wyatt. “It’s okay.”

“I’m supposed to be saying that to you.”

“It’s not your fault.” Flynn reached up, the back of his knuckles brushing against Wyatt’s face. “Wyatt, look at me. It’s not your fault.”

He took off his wedding ring and passed it to Wyatt, pressing it into his palm.

Wyatt refused to believe it. “Garcia…”

Flynn just closed Wyatt’s fingers over the ring and then held his hand. His breathing grew more labored.

Wyatt leaned down, squeezing the ring, and Flynn’s hand, as tight as he could. Lucy was whispering, silent as a breath, “I love you I love you I love you I love you…” All around them, men were pulling people out of the water, the ship was sinking, it was chaos, Rufus was demanding to know what was going on—and yet none of it registered.

There was only Flynn.

He pressed his forehead to Flynn’s, imagined that if he held onto Flynn hard enough some of his life would pass into Flynn’s, would keep him alive.

Flynn’s breath was warm against Wyatt’s skin, puffing—and then it wasn’t there anymore.

Lucy whimpered. “…Garcia?”

There was no answer.

When Wyatt opened his eyes—he saw that Flynn was still, his face slack, his eyes closed.

The scream Lucy gave echoed in Wyatt’s ears for days.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt was getting ready for bed when the door opened and Dave ushered Lucy in, then beat a hasty retreat.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Lucy said.

“I—”

“Because you think I blame you.”

Wyatt’s excuses and arguments died on his tongue, shriveled up. He nodded, feeling his throat close up.

Lucy’s eyes were soft in a way he’d thought he’d never see again. She walked over to him, gently coaxing him into a hug, her arms wrapping around his neck.

Wyatt held still for a moment, unsure if he was allowed to touch her back, but then Lucy tightened her hold, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He wrapped his arms around her and relaxed into her, inhaling deeply. It felt like—well not like he could breathe again. He didn’t think the band around his chest, the constant reminder of Flynn’s loss, would ever go away. But at least he could breathe a little easier, knowing Lucy still loved him.

“I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “At first I think—I wanted to. Because at least it gave me someone to blame and attack. But I’m just—I’m angry at the universe and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“I don’t know what to do either,” Wyatt admitted. “I can’t, I don’t know what to say to make this better for you. I’m your husband, I’m supposed to help make shit better and I can’t and I don’t know how and I miss him so much, every second, and I hate—”

“Don’t hate yourself,” Lucy told him, almost angrily like she was affronted that he dared to think such a thing.

“You’re not right, Lucy. You won’t eat, you sleep and then you don’t, you need help and I can’t—”

Lucy pulled away, her eyes blazing, unshed tears shining bright inside them. “You think I don’t know? You think I’m not aware that I’m—that I’m sick? You think I don’t—it’s not—” She made a noise of frustration. “I can’t say, words, I can’t say what I feel and it hurts and it confuses me and it scares me and… why him, huh?”

Wyatt felt like he’d been stabbed and then hated himself for feeling that way. “You wish it had been me?”

“Of course I don’t!” Lucy ran a hand through her hair, two tears falling free down her face. “But why, out of everyone, he—not that anyone else deserved it but he was vindicated—”

“I don’t understand,” Wyatt said desperately.

“It’s not fair!” Lucy yelled, her hands balled into fists. “It’s not—he was right, about everything, we should’ve been helping him when he stole the Mothership, he was right the whole fucking time, and he’s saved our lives how many times, and he—he gave you a piece of his fucking body so that you could live, I mean, how is it fair, how is it _fair_ —”

“Wait, wait, what?” Wyatt’s trains of thought all came to a screeching halt at the same moment. “What’s this—his body? What?”

Lucy looked simultaneously horrified and determined. “Who do you think gave you the transplant, Wyatt?”

…no.

“We couldn’t take you to a hospital, not without alerting Emma and not when you don’t legally fucking exist. Mason and Denise brought a medical team in, they said you needed a transplant, I insisted they test me but I wasn’t a match, so Flynn insisted they test him. He was a match. You have his goddamn kidney in your body.”

Wyatt had the vague thought in the back of his mind that usually Lucy would be a lot kinder about sharing this information, but clearly Lucy wasn’t in a place to be kind about anything. Mostly though he was concerned about how his stomach had apparently vanished and the room was spinning a little. “And none of you told me? I thought you guys just…”

“We just what, stole a kidney from a hospital?”

“…kind of, yeah.”

Lucy shook her head. “No. No, it was Flynn. He wouldn’t hear any other option.”

Wyatt sank down onto the bed, struggling to breathe. Flynn hadn’t just kept him alive until they got back to the bunker, he’d saved Wyatt’s life. Even before he knew—when he thought Wyatt didn’t love him in return.

Lucy seemed to realize, belatedly, what she’d said. “Wyatt, oh my God, Wyatt, I’m sorry—”

She wrapped her arms around him. Wyatt held onto her automatically, but he hated himself for wishing that it wasn’t her holding him, hated himself for wishing it was Flynn.

“I didn’t get to thank him.”

“He didn’t want you to know. Told us to keep it to ourselves.”

Of course, the bastard. “I hate him.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He felt a few drops of something wet fall onto his head, and Lucy’s voice had gone thick. “I hate the universe more. All it did was take.”

 

* * *

 

Mason, of all people, had the idea.

“We should have a funeral.”

It wasn’t mentioned aloud that he’d chosen to bring this up when Lucy and Wyatt were having a therapy session down the hall. Wyatt, to everyone’s surprise, hadn’t dug his heels in about it as much as they’d thought.

“We can’t have a funeral,” Jiya said. “There’s no body.”

“Then we have a wake,” Mason replied. “Something where we can all talk about him and remember the good times.”

“There were good times?” Rufus asked, only half-sarcastic. There had been good times, he knew. He’d never say it to Wyatt, but during the times Wyatt had been a real pain in the ass, Rufus had found himself drifting to Flynn—and Flynn was just as much his best friend now as Wyatt was.

Or, well, Flynn had been. While he was alive.

But the fact remained that they’d all grown to be friends because of fighting a losing battle against an evil time-changing organization so, good times? What good times?

“I take it that we wouldn’t tell the other two about this,” Dave said slowly.

“I think they could handle it,” Jiya said. “Maybe not right now, but in a little bit.”

“Lucy won’t,” Amy contradicted. “She won’t ever stop hoping—and if we do this, she’ll see it as the rest of us giving up.”

“I don’t see how there’s anything we could do to change it,” Mason said, a little cranky. “I mean the ship sank in 18 minutes, according to you, Jiya, he died almost instantly, getting him onto a lifeboat, or smuggling our Lifeboat somehow onto the ship—”

“I’ve run all the scenarios,” Rufus said, feeling unbelievably weary. “Dave and I, we’ve gone over it. Even if we wanted to risk crossing over our own timeline again, we couldn’t find a solid plan that would get him the medical attention he needed and not risk our past selves or ruin history too much.”

“Flynn knew the risks,” Denise said quietly. “We don’t have to like it, but it’s a risk we all signed on for.”

“Not Lucy,” Amy said, her voice growing harsh. She rose up, her finger jabbing down into the table. “Mason agreed to let Rittenhouse fund him, you chose to fight for this assignment, Dave and Wyatt knew they were signing up for suicide missions, Rufus knew he was spying and that there was another agenda. You dragged her out of her house without an explanation and you didn’t tell her all the risks and she came back to find me gone. She didn’t sign up for this, she didn’t ask for any of it.”

Amy slumped back down into the chair. Dave reached over, taking her hand.

There was an awkward pause.

“So, what, we each say a few words and then get drunk?” Jiya asked.

“I like it,” Mason said.

Dave nodded.

Rufus shrugged. What the hell. He was pretty sure Flynn had thought he’d die when he stole the Mothership, that he’d take Rittenhouse down but go down with them, without anyone to mourn or miss him, branded a terrorist.

At least now… he’d have died remembered by people who loved him.

 

* * *

 

It was a couple of weeks after they started therapy that Lucy cornered him at breakfast. “I’d like you to move back in with me.”

Wyatt passed her some coffee. He’d been getting up and making it, with Flynn gone. The hazelnut remained in the cupboard, behind the tea, purposefully forgotten. “Are you sure?”

Lucy nodded. “I’m sure.”

He still didn’t know how to move around Lucy now. How to be in her space. It was like back when Jess had come back and there was suddenly this barrier and he knew it was his fault somehow but he couldn’t work around it.

Fuck, he needed Flynn.

“I’ll… move my stuff back in, then.”

Lucy gave him a small, wane smile. It reminded him far too much of how she’d been right after they’d changed timelines and she’d been forced to work for Rittenhouse for Amy’s sake, how they’d had to literally hold her captive. She’d smiled just like that, then. Like she was smiling because she knew she should, but she was exhausted by the very idea of it.

Then she squeezed his arm gently and went over to talk to Amy, who was half-asleep reading the funnies from the newspaper on the couch while Dave read the sports section and Mason did the crossword (in ink because he was a masochist that way).

Wyatt watched her go, and wondered how she’d managed to retreat so far from him, so far from everyone.

 

* * *

 

“We never would have made it, just the two of us, would we?” Wyatt asked one night.

It was about a week after she’d asked him to move back in with her. Lucy still felt the absence of Flynn, to the point where she’d wake up groggy in the middle of the night, wondering where he was and if he’d had another nightmare. But it felt better than she’d expected to have Wyatt back in her bed. Even if Amy had taken to mock-complaining about putting up with Dave’s snoring again.

Lucy rolled over to look at him. Wyatt was staring up at the ceiling, like he was being careful not to look at her. His voice was careful, measured, and he kept swallowing like he was keeping himself from crying or from letting his throat close up.

“What makes you say that?”

“The way we rushed into it. I was… I was fucked up and you were fucked up and I don’t think I realized—I knew, but I didn’t know, at the same time. I was so goddamn miserable, I had a death wish, and then I—I clung to you, and I know you were, I mean, you were going to blow up the Mothership with you inside it. And I’m not sure if… if two, I mean, all the stories are about how these two desperately unhappy people find each other and bam they get better together but I’m starting to wonder if y’know, maybe it’s also… it’s also getting better on your own because you know you can’t really be your best in the relationship?” Wyatt winced. “I’m not saying this right.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Lucy propped herself up onto her elbow, resting her head in the palm of her hand. “You felt like the only thing that made me happy and that’s—nobody can be everything to someone.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt swallowed again. “And then Jess… I’m lucky. In the timeline I’m from. You and Flynn got together and Jess cut me off. You guys were the responsible ones. I was—I was a fucking idiot. And I think if it’d just been you and me… if you hadn’t had Flynn… I think I would’ve made us crash and burn.”

Lucy thought about that. “I think…” She trailed her finger slowly up Wyatt’s arm, relearning the curves and lines of him. Getting used to his silhouette in the dark again. “I think I love you. And that’s not changing. But I think we couldn’t have been the best of ourselves if it was just the two of us, and if we weren’t the best of ourselves, that meant we would’ve ended up hurting each other instead of helping fulfill each other.”

“See that was what I was trying to say, you just said it way better.”

She snorted, not quite a laugh but close to it. She was working her way back to those, even though each one still felt like a betrayal to the grief that was lodged in her chest.

Lucy lay back down, settling her cheek against Wyatt’s shoulder.

“I hope the bastard appreciates it,” Wyatt mumbled.

“That we’re fucked up without him? I doubt it. He wanted us to be happy.”

Wyatt’s jaw clenched. Lucy waited to hear what he was going to say, but Wyatt just stayed staring at the ceiling, until she fell asleep, still waiting.

 

* * *

 

They didn’t have sex for a long time.

It wasn’t something they really talked about. It just kind of happened. They went to sleep, curled up together, clinging really, like they could pretend the other side of the bed wasn’t cold and empty.

One night, about two months after it happened, Lucy crawled on top of him in the middle of the night.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice a harsh whisper. “Fuck me, hard, please, fuck me hard as you can, bruise me—”

 _Fuck me like Flynn_ , she wasn’t saying. But he heard it anyway.

He asked her, sometimes, too. They used the strap on a lot more than they had in the past. _Mark me up. Let us pretend._ For one or two moments, visceral and flush with endorphins, it was almost the same thing.

When they did have sex just as each other, no pretenses, it tended to be the opposite. Slow. Soft. Like they were trying not to break each other.

Or rather like they were trying to hold together something already broken.

 

* * *

 

Lucy watched as Wyatt cleaned up his knuckles after wailing on the punching bag for two hours. He’d used to spar with Flynn, and she’d always told herself she’d get Flynn to teach her self-defense someday. But she’d kept putting it off and now…

She pushed that thought aside. “Hey, Wyatt?”

“Hmm?” He wrapped some gauze around the scrapes. It was pretty obvious to everyone that Wyatt’s habit of punching the bag until his knuckles bled was his version of self-flagellation, a way to get out of his own head and punish himself for what he’d done.

Lucy might have forgiven him, but she didn’t think Wyatt would ever forgive himself.

“How did it happen?” she asked. “In your timeline? How did you and Flynn and I get together?”

Wyatt paused. Lucy took his hands and started bandaging them herself. A pained smile flitted across Wyatt’s face. “I did that for him, once. When he’d been going at it. Bandaged his hands. He looked at me… in this way he’d never looked at me before and I remember thinking, fuck, he’s handsome. And then I spent like a month freaking out about that.”

She smiled. She hadn’t been there, in her timeline, for Wyatt’s sexual crisis but she could imagine given his usual spectacularly disastrous handling of his emotions that it’d been quite something.

“In my timeline… Jess came back and you—you started sleeping with Flynn. I think you were in love with both of us from the start but you wouldn’t admit it for the longest time. I tried to make it work with Jess but… we just weren’t… she wasn’t Rittenhouse, then. Not in that timeline.

“And then you and I—we never really stopped caring about each other. And I could tell that there was still something but you and Flynn were so clearly in love and I wasn’t gonna mess that up. But then—fuck, y’know, I started falling for that bastard too. And then I went and got myself injured and he bandaged me up and starting giving me a goddamn massage because that’s just Flynn for you and next thing I know we’re kissing and he’s telling me you’re all right with it.

“I freaked out about it for a day or two and then… then Flynn and I kind of talked, and by—ah—but kind of I mean, we destroyed the kitchen having sex. You thought we’d had a fight, and we cleared that up because you had a right to think that, the way we were acting, and then we all talked and finally got on the same page and ruined the living room couch with more sex and then we just… never looked back.”

“It sounds like it was a disaster.”

“It was a disaster and a half. Mostly my fault.” Wyatt’s cheeks got a little pink. “I was insanely attracted to the guy and I didn’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

“Join the club.” She finished wrapping up his hands but continued holding them, rubbing her fingers over his knuckles. “Flynn told me about how he remembers the two of us getting married. We’re legally married, in this timeline. Since…”

“Since I literally didn’t exist, yeah.” Wyatt shrugged as if to say _no big deal_ , even though she knew it still grated at him sometimes.

“Apparently it was really nice. He, uh, he asked Amy’s permission first. He wanted to make sure she was okay with it. And Denise gave me away. Her mom made all this food to send to us… and Mason of all people officiated, he was the only ordained minister. Rufus gave this—this awful toast, apparently Jiya’s got a recording of it, something about how a year ago if he’d heard Flynn was marrying me he would’ve asked me if it was a hostage situation. Blink twice for yes, or something.” She laughed to cover up the odd sort of sob that tried to shoot up out of her throat. “And Denise took care of the legal paperwork, that was her wedding present to us.”

“I’m glad,” Wyatt said quietly. “That you have that. I don’t exist, but when we get out of this… it’ll be easier, having a husband who’s dead instead of having to create all that paperwork for me.”

“Did you know,” she blurted out, “that he got his name from _100 Years of Solitude_?”

“What?”

“It’s Maria’s—it was Maria’s—favorite book. Garcia is a last name usually, but she named Gabriel after Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and so when she had our Flynn… he got the middle name.”

Wyatt chuckled. “No, I didn’t know that. Did you know we once stole you a lost painting from the Nazis for your birthday? His idea.”

“No way. What painting?”

“ _Portrait of a Young Man_ by Raphael.”

“Oh my God.”

“It was epic.” Wyatt’s grin was bright and wide and she realized she hadn’t seen it in what felt like years.

She also realized they were talking about Flynn without her bursting into tears or feeling empty inside.

It terrified her.

“Tell me all about it,” she said instead of panicking.

Wyatt squeezed her fingers as if to say he noticed anyway, but he told her.

 

* * *

 

She just wanted to see him again.

They’d crossed timelines before, to save Rufus, surely they could do it again, just once. Maybe she could go back early enough and just—just warn him about the _Lusitania_ , or tell Wyatt not to fire his gun no matter what, or—or something—

But where, when, would she go to?

It pissed her off that it’d taken her this long to realize that she already knew exactly where and when to go.

“I have to go to São Paulo,” she said.

Nobody was fond of this idea. She needed to wait until she was more stable, until they had more time, until Rittenhouse was gone, she should take someone with her, blah, blah, blah.

But she was going to get the journal to Flynn. She was going to make sure this all started. Maybe this time, she wouldn’t get in his way and he could destroy Rittenhouse and be safe.

She wouldn’t be with him. Wyatt wouldn’t be with him. They might not even be with each other. But Flynn, and everyone else she loved, would be safe.

That was what mattered.

She touched down in Brazil in 2014. Rufus was waiting nervously in the Lifeboat, none too sure about this crossing back on their own timeline thing again.

“You get in, you get out,” he told her.

“I’ve already done this, or a version of me has,” she told him. “Pool ball theory, Rufus, it’s fine.”

Rufus looked like he had quite a few opinions about that, but he kept it to himself. “I’ll just be twiddling my thumbs back here, then.” He paused. “What was I even doing in 2014? Besides enjoying a life without Trump as president.”

“Developing a massive crush on Jiya?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.”

She knew Flynn was in a bar, and a seedy one, but it took quite a bit of searching to find the right one. It was almost closing by the time she got to him.

He was sitting at the bar, an empty glass between his fingers, hunched over. There was a haggard, hunted look on his face, his hair was a little long and flopping into his eyes, and he was wearing a coat with the collar popped up like a dork.

It was like breathing in freezing cold air—she could finally breathe, but it stabbed at her lungs.

Lucy carefully dabbed at her eyes so nobody could see they were wet, clutched the journal tightly, and walked up to him.

“Ga—Flynn.” She sat next to him at the bar. “He’s had enough,” she told the bartender.

Flynn eyed her. “I didn’t expect them to pull a honeypot.”

“Rittenhouse? I’m not with them.”

Flynn snorted. “That’s what you’d say if you were with them.”

“No, I’d pretend I didn’t know what that name meant.” She took the glass out of his hands and set it aside. “I know what you’re doing here. You ran as far and as fast as you could and you’re wondering if you should just eat a bullet and join them. But you can’t.”

Flynn stared at her, getting a proper look at her for the first time. “How do you know that.”

“You told me.”

“I think I’d remember meeting you.”

Lucy pushed the journal towards him. “This will answer all your questions. And it’ll tell you how to defeat Rittenhouse. And get your family back.”

It wasn’t a lie, really, was it? He’d get a family, anyway, even if it wasn’t the one he’d lost.

“I’ll need a few more details than that.”

“I’ll answer most of your questions, but not here.” She didn’t know if Rittenhouse was actually right on Flynn’s tail or not but she wasn’t chancing it. “You have a place?”

That was how she ended up at Flynn’s motel room on very much the wrong side of town.

How she ended up with her tongue in Flynn’s mouth while he pinned her to the wall was a little… less clear.

Not that she was complaining.

Flynn kissed her with a hard-edged desperation and a roughness that she’d only felt from him in the very beginning, when she’d finally admitted she loved him, too, and he got to touch her after months and months of letting her get used to this three of them idea and alternate timelines and she stopped having to sleep with Amy every night. What was new, though, was the lack of control. Flynn’s fingers trembled, and she knew she was crying but she also knew the salt on her lips wasn’t from her tears, and his hands gripped her tight enough to make her cry out just a little.

Flynn growled out a half apology and went back to kissing her, like he wanted to crawl inside of her. She wouldn’t have minded that. She clawed at him, not at all inclined to be gentle, wanting him to mark her in every way. She couldn’t keep him, no matter how much she wanted to drag him to the Lifeboat and take him home with her. But she could make damn sure he didn’t forget about her for a while.

She yanked at his belt, at his pants, his shirt, nearly ripping the damn thing off of him. Flynn tugged her underwear down just enough to get his fingers into her, shuddering when he felt how wet she was. Lucy rolled her hips into him, little noises escaping her, uncaring if anyone heard or what Flynn thought of her because of it.

Neither of them talked. It was all growls and grunts and gasps. Flynn got his hands on her thighs and lifted her, dropping her onto the bed and she pulled her dress up, throwing her underwear to the side. Flynn temporarily ignored that and yanked the top of her dress and her bra down in one rough movement, exposing her breasts and immediately attaching his mouth to one of them.

Lucy threw her head back, her hand delving into the hair at the back of his head, scratching a little, feeling something, no, everything in her melt as his tongue fluttered around her nipple and his hands squeezed her legs, keeping her pinned down to the mattress.

Flynn pulled away with a scrape of his teeth and a lewd popping noise, then moved down the bed, diving down between her legs.

Lucy sobbed, pleasure mingling with sense memory and grief as he got into the very heart of her, as he made her tremble and twist. It was so strange, to be mourning someone who was right there with her, who was doing unspeakably filthy things with his literal goddamn tongue inside her, but there she had it. She thumped the heel of her foot onto his back, trying to get him to stop and get up here and _fuck_ her, dammit, until she forgot where she was and that the wedding ring on his finger wasn’t hers and that she was going to have to say goodbye in an hour.

Flynn just reached up blindly, found her ankle, and yanked her leg out, exposing more of her to his mouth and preventing her from any more protests.

Lucy’s back arched and she sobbed, her hands ripping the sheets from gripping them so hard, the rush tinged with a loathing for the universe, for Emma, for herself for taking this moment.

Flynn crawled up to her. “I don’t have—”

“I’m good,” she told him. She trusted he wouldn’t give her anything and she had the baby aspect taken care of.

Flynn gave an approximation of a nod, and then oh _fuck_ she’d forgotten—yes, like that, she wrapped her arms around him and bit down on his neck and took him in until it hurt and then took him in some more.

“Did I—”

Lucy pulled back and grabbed his face. “Fuck. Me.”

Flynn arched an eyebrow but did as he was told.

He always did, when it came to her.

He braced himself on one hand, his thrusts sharp, his eyes fixed on the spot where he slid in and out of her. She didn’t want to think about why he might not want to look at her face, why he might be avoiding that—so she looked instead at his chest, heaving with breaths, heaving with life, at his strong hands gripping the sheets, gripping her, at his hips, at the visual evidence of his claiming her, being with her, until she could brand it in her fucking DNA.

For once, she didn’t have to tell him not to hold back. This was a Flynn who’d forgotten how to be gentle, and he fucked her as hard and as fast as she could’ve asked for, until they were slick with sweat and she gave up trying to be quiet.

It was oddly detached, the closest thing to an anonymous one night stand she’d had since college. But it was also intimate in the rawest, most wounded way possible. She could very well guess who he was thinking of, and why he couldn’t seem to permit himself to be gentle with her. And she knew that the man she loved was both here and not here, and that she was lying to him, manipulating him, giving him false hope so he’d do what she needed him to. But God, let them pretend, let both of them pretend, and let their wounds show and bleed. At least now neither of them were alone in it.

“I’m—” Flynn choked out.

She wrapped herself around him, pressing herself into him, against him. “Do it, fuck, do it, give me everything.”

“I don’t—”

“You won’t hurt me,” she said, instead of _if it hurts I’ll remember it happened_.

Far from healthy, but then, ‘healthy’ had gone out the door months ago.

Flynn’s hand dug into the small of her back as he shoved himself inside of her with a grunt, his hips jerking in small movements as he emptied himself inside of her. Lucy felt like she was shaking apart, and that was before—considerate in this if nothing else—Flynn reached down and rubbed at her clit, only a few seconds needed to finish her off.

She would’ve screamed, if she could have made noise in that moment.

They collapsed on the ruined bed, entangled, clothes still half on, sticky, her face buried into the crook of his neck.

She never wanted to emerge.

 

* * *

 

“You lost someone too,” Flynn said as he put on his shirt.

Lucy sat back against the pillows, watching him as he moved. This earlier Flynn moved with a kind of coiled strength, like all of his rage was held back by a thin chain. She had almost forgotten how fluid and catlike he could be.

She hated that she’d almost forgotten that.

He looked back at her, waiting for her reply.

Lucy shrugged. She couldn’t tell him the whole truth, but… “My husband.” She took a deep breath. “Rittenhouse got him, too.”

“My apologies.”

“You and I both know what bullshit people’s apologies are.”

The corner of Flynn’s mouth ticked upward. “Are you gonna be this fun when I next run into you?”

“I’m going to be scared and upset and I’m not going to believe a word you say.”

“Then I’ll make do.” He buckled his belt and put his holster back on. “No offense but nobody’s getting in my way, not even you.”

She could think of a few times when she had, in fact, gotten in his way. She couldn’t help but wonder how it would’ve gone if another historian had been chosen, or if Flynn had really let go of the last of his humanity and said fuck it and shot her.

Maybe then he would've torn Rittenhouse down. Maybe then, this all would’ve been over long ago.

“And you?” he asked. “You fight them, too.”

“In my own way.”

“The best defense is a good offense. Learned that in fencing.” Flynn paused. “Did you at least get the bastard who did it?”

“No. The person who actually—it doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger, really. The person who’s to blame, she wasn’t—we haven’t gotten to her.”

Flynn snorted. “You can get to the people she loves.” His tone was laced with bitterness.

But Lucy’s heart thumped.

She couldn’t get to Emma, no.

But she could still hit her where it really, truly hurt.

An eye for an eye.

 

* * *

 

Rufus took one look at her when she got back on the Lifeboat and then turned away. “He took the journal?”

“Yes.” She sat gingerly in the seat. Flynn’s fingermarks were brands under her skin, her breasts still red from his stubble, and there was a bite mark on the inside of her thigh that wasn’t going to go away for a while.

“Does Wyatt know you planned to sleep with him?”

The Lifeboat started up. “I didn’t plan anything.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Lucy looked down at her wedding ring.

About fucking Flynn? “Yes.” He’d guess the moment he saw her, anyway.

About her new plan?

No.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The '100 Years of Solitude' idea came from extasiswings, and is now my official headcanon for how Flynn and his brother got their names.


	5. Chapter 5

_The Lusitania ~ May 7 th, 1915_

Wyatt ran through the ship with Flynn as it started to list dangerously to the side. He nearly ran into the wall, the floor now definitely at an angle. “Shit, Flynn, we gotta go.”

“I’m aware,” Flynn said tersely, firing behind them.

Sometimes Wyatt really hated their job.

They tore up the stairs, their feet splashing in the water. The  _Lusitania_ took only eighteen minutes to sink. Most people wouldn’t make it.

But they had to.

The Rittenhouse guy chasing them fired again, striking one of the ropes holding some luggage.

There was a yell, and then Wyatt turned in time to see Flynn had turned around and fucking launched himself at the Rittenhouse agent, the two of them now tussling on the water-soaked floor.

“Flynn, what the fuck!?” Wyatt yelled. He pulled his gun, but he couldn’t get a shot off without hurting Flynn.

Flynn grabbed the guy by the collar, punching him. The Rittenhouse agent twisted out of Flynn’s grip, staggering to his feet.

Flynn didn’t try to get to his feet in turn—he just grabbed the guy’s legs and flipped him—right as the agent pulled his gun.

The ship lurched again, luggage flying towards them, and the gun went off.

Luggage rained down on them, pummeling them. Wyatt yelled in pain as one hit his ankle and another his shoulder. “Flynn!”

There were three inches of water at their feet now. Fuck.

Wyatt shoved the luggage off him and staggered to his feet. He could see Flynn doing the same, grunting as he lifted the unconscious or dead Rittenhouse agent off of him as well. Wyatt offered his hand and yanked Flynn up.

“Let’s go.”

They ran up onto the deck, where it was—not surprisingly—chaos. Wyatt searched the deck for Lucy, trying to find her among the throng of panicked passengers. “Lucy!”

“Here!” She waved to them. “Here—excuse me that’s my—that’s my husband excuse me—Wyatt! Flynn!”

They ran to her, Flynn stumbling a little and grunting. Wyatt looked at him. “You okay?”

Flynn shook his head. “Later.”

“We’re on Lifeboat 9,” Lucy explained, taking their hands and practically yanking them over to where Rufus was helping the crewmen. “It’s not fully loaded but will pick up a few extra passengers that fell into the water.”

They got in, Wyatt jumping over to help the crew with the ropes. Flynn sank down, wincing. Lucy cupped his face. “Garcia?”

“The guy winged me,” Flynn admitted.

Wyatt looked down—and saw Flynn’s leg.

Shit, fuck shit fuck _shit_.

“Did it go clear through?” he asked, yanking off his jacket and tying it around Flynn’s leg to stop the bleeding, even as red began to spread, horrible and bright, through Flynn’s pants. What if it had hit the main artery, what if—

“I think so,” Flynn grunted. Lucy moved to curl around his side and head, shielding him from the spray of the freezing saltwater. “Thought I’d managed to avoid it by jumping the guy before he jumped me—”

“Avoid what?” Lucy demanded, pushing Flynn’s hair out of the way and checking him for a fever.

“Your journal,” Flynn grunted. “At the end—it told me that I’d die on the _Lusitania_ if I didn’t get out of the way before Wyatt shot me.”

“Before I—I what?” Wyatt’s blood went cold.

Flynn reached up, stroking his knuckles across the back of Wyatt’s face. “It’s okay. It was an accident. You were trying to protect me and the ship tilted, I got in the way of the shot.”

“So—so, what, what do we do?” Lucy asked, a thread of desperation running through her voice.

“Get him to a doctor when we reach Ireland,” Wyatt said.

“That’ll take too long!” Lucy said, clutching onto Flynn.

“Unless there’s a doctor with supplies that we can find beforehand, that’s what we’ve got,” Wyatt replied. “I could manage it on my own but I don’t have any supplies and we’ve got no way of getting them for hours.”

Lucy swore, causing several sailors to look over at her, surprised that the pretty and petite looking lady was letting loose with such vicious curses. Lucy glared at them all and then went back to brushing her hand through Flynn’s hair, pressing his hand to her chest and holding tight.

Wyatt did what he could to keep the bleeding minimal, but he was terrified, so goddamn terrified, that Flynn would lose the leg.

He should’ve been more worried about infection.

They were on that damn tiny boat for hours, out in the cold, with dirty, sweaty, panicked people around them, and salt water splashing onto them whenever they picked someone up out of the water.

Flynn’s fever set in as night fell.

“N-no,” Lucy said, frantically looking around. “Water, anyone, who has water!”

“Nobody has anything, Lucy,” Wyatt said. Fuck, how long would it take for rescue to come?

By the time a boat picked them up, sent from the Irish coast of Kinsale, Flynn was shaking uncontrollably. Lucy wouldn’t let go of him, even as the others started to be lifted off the lifeboat onto the ship.

“Injured man!” Wyatt yelled, holding on tightly to Flynn’s hand, uncaring who saw them and what they thought of it. “We need help lifting him!”

Flynn groaned in pain as his leg was jostled in the process of getting him onto the boat. Someone brought water and a blanket, and Lucy fed the former to Flynn while Wyatt draped him in the blanket. “Is there a doctor?” he asked. “Or—or supplies, sewing supplies, so I can sew up his leg, anything?”

“No, sir,” was the reply. “We were expecting cold n’ wet people, not shot,” was the reply.

Wyatt could have gladly strangled them all, even though he knew it wasn’t their faults.

Rufus took care of excuses and explanations while Lucy and Wyatt just sat with him. At one point Flynn started apologizing to Lucy over and over again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I should’ve—you warned me and I should’ve done better, I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”

“Shh, shh, no need to be sorry.” Lucy held his hand so tightly Wyatt could see the white outline of her bones. “Stay quiet, save your strength, we’ll get you to a doctor in Ireland.”

Flynn shook his head, eyes glassy. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Garcia, just stay quiet for me.”

He managed to fumble for his wedding ring. His hand was caught up in Lucy’s grip but he tapped it. “Keep it, take it.”

Wyatt had to turn his face away, a sob making his chest heave. No, no, no, it wasn’t supposed to end like this, it wasn’t—

Flynn’s free hand grabbed him, pulling him in with a surprising burst of strength. Wyatt turned, pressed his forehead against Flynn’s, wishing like hell he could kiss him. “I love you,” he whispered. “Garcia, please…”

“It’s all right. I love you too. I should’ve—I should’ve done better.”

The last word trailed off strangely and Wyatt opened his eyes.

The scream Lucy gave echoed in Wyatt’s ears for days.

 

* * *

 

They picked a day for the wake when they didn’t have a mission and Denise could persuade Lucy to go to bed early. Wyatt was exhausted—nobody could blame him—yawning all night and deciding to go to bed when Lucy did. Rufus figured that Wyatt was probably trying to make up for how he’d pulled away during Lucy’s depression. The last couple of weeks, wherever Lucy was, that was where Wyatt was too.

He was glad to see that Lucy had more energy again. Her mission to São Paulo hadn’t been easy. He’d seen for himself the haunted look in her eyes when she’d climbed into the Lifeboat. He’d also seen how she looked like she’d been fucked six ways to Sunday but he wasn’t going to blame her for that.

Now, though, Denise was saying Lucy might be able to go on missions again. She’d been talking with Denise about how they needed to go on the offense, they needed to go back in time on their own and finds ways to counterattack, to set up defenses so that Rittenhouse would find themselves blocked. They needed to identify targets and make sure those targets were safe.

It was slightly terrifying but also impressive. Lucy finally had her fire again.

Rufus knew Flynn would be glad.

They all just grabbed a few beers and junk food for the improvised wake, sitting on the couches, bringing chairs over from the kitchen table. Everyone looked at each other for a moment, silently asking each other who would start things off.

Rufus sighed inwardly. Might as well be him.

“I’ll be the first to say that Flynn was a bastard sometimes,” he said. Everyone swiveled their heads to look at him. “He got me shot. He killed a guy I considered a friend, someone I looked up to. And he literally set a blimp on fire.

“But he was also doing what he knew was right, even though he knew history was going to call him a villain for it. He was doing shit he knew was wrong, and knew was awful, because he believed that it was for the greater good. He was fighting against an enemy—all alone, and I mean, I couldn’t, it took me months to stand up to Rittenhouse and tell them to fuck off. He told them fuck off and then kept telling them that every day. And I mean… when you care about someone as a friend, you want the best for them. And I think we can all agree he was the best for Lucy and Wyatt. I didn’t really have friends outside of work, because, I mean Jiya can tell you, we were working crazy hours and couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Lucy and Wyatt are so different from me and I love them, and Flynn made them better, and he was what they needed—don’t tell him I said this but especially Wyatt—and I’m always gonna be grateful for that.

“In the end though he was my friend too. Kept me from getting myself into trouble. He always did it with the most annoying look on his face, it cracked me up. He was so grumpy about it. But he looked out for me and no offense but he’s the only one around here who is my equal in sass. You all try, and I appreciate that, but really. Seriously. You all suck at it.”

Everyone chuckled.

Rufus shrugged. “So yeah. He was my friend, and he was good for my friends.”

“I didn’t trust him,” Amy said. “I remember when Mom had Lucy and we were desperate and Denise said we were going to need Flynn, I thought she’d lost her mind. And then we had Lucy back and _she_ said we needed Flynn and I definitely thought I was the only sane person around here. And I could see how he looked at her, and I wasn’t sure, like—good thing he’s in love with her, he’ll keep her safe on missions, but is this really someone I want my sister dating?

“And then he just… I started to see all the ways he was taking care of her. How he knew when she was tired. How he made her coffee, watched movies with her, he listened when she cried, how he supported her and told her to stand up for herself. And I saw—I saw Lucy blossom. Like—Lucy’s always been so hard on herself and quiet and she lets people walk all over her but with Flynn she gave as good as she got and he challenged her and he supported her and just, it was amazing to watch. And I was so glad because I knew—I knew that if something happened to me, there was someone who could be what my sister needed, who loved her as much as I did, who’d make sure Lucy was being her best self.

“And I mean…” Amy shrugged, her eyes wet, and she drank a quick swig of beer. “I always wanted a big brother, y’know?”

“I don’t think I ever told anyone this,” Mason said, “but when he stole the Mothership I thought… thank God.”

Everyone stared at him, Rufus included. What?

Mason shrugged. “I knew by then what Rittenhouse was capable of, as I told Rufus a few times. I suspected what they wanted to use the Mothership for, and I was terrified. They had Rufus spying for them, and they had my balls in a vice, and I didn’t know how to save myself or the man that I—” Mason cleared his throat. “The man that I consider a son.”

Fuck. Rufus had to blink rapidly to keep from crying. He’d known for years what Mason meant to him and what he meant to Mason, but it still was a lot to hear it out loud.

“I cared about my employees and they were all at risk too. I didn’t know who to trust or how to get out. And when I heard from Rufus and his recordings the things that Flynn was doing… I realized that Flynn was doing what I couldn’t. Or rather what I wouldn’t. And I sort of hated myself for thinking it and I was still scared that Rufus would be collateral but I found myself thinking… by God I hope that bastard succeeds.”

Mason took a deep breath. “If it weren’t for him, we’d all be living in the world Rittenhouse wanted by now. We say that Rittenhouse is winning and I can’t say we’re not in bad straits but it could be so, so much worse. We crippled them when we arrested Cahill and the others, we took Mason Industries from them, we haven’t lost the war yet. And that’s because Flynn had the balls to waltz in and steal that damn ship.”

Mason raised his glass in a toast and took a drink.

“I lost my dad,” Jiya sad. “A about… wow, um, seven years ago now. How about that. My mom went back to Lebanon but I was at CalTech and I wanted to stay here, to finish my education and Mason Industries was already talking to me about potential jobs when I graduated. I didn’t want to give that up. So there I was, no dad, struggling with the time difference to Skype my mom.

“I didn’t really think a lot about Flynn? At first? He could be annoying, sure, and he was funny sometimes, but then he and Rufus started hanging out a lot more and so I ended up hanging out with him because I was with Rufus and then—I don’t know when it happened but he just kind of started looking out for me. We went on a few missions together and he’d ask how I was doing, kind of loomed behind me when guys tried to bother me. He offered to spar with me, not like I was some damsel who needed training but because he’d seen what I could do in Chinatown and he wanted me to get better and he wanted me to stay sharp. And—he’d have to have been pretty damn young to be my dad y’know it’s not the exact same, but I guess once you are a parent it’s just a part of who you are and I sort of found myself looking at him that way.

“I never said anything. I figured that’s kind of weird to say to anyone, ‘hey I think you’re kind of like a dad to me’, but add in him losing a kid and I just thought, no way. But now I wish I’d told him. Just so he knew.”

Rufus put his arm around her and Jiya leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Jiya rarely cried, but he could tell she needed to be quiet for a while now.

“Watching him and Lucy dance around each other was hilarious,” Dave said. He grinned. “Poor guy was so in love with her and it took Lucy forever to figure it out. I think Houdini had to tell her. For a while I thought, poor guy, she’s never gonna love him as much as he loves her. But man, the way she’d light up when he walked into the room. Just this big damn smile on her face. Lucy and I make a good team, back when we first started out the three of us I could make her laugh but she was always so serious. Rufus and I were kind of the jokesters. But Flynn makes her laugh so hard, one time I remember she snorted her coffee up her nose. He felt so bad about it but Lucy just laughed harder.”

Dave chuckled. “And I think we all remember when we met Wyatt—‘cept you Rufus—and we had to watch that goddamn disaster. I know it wasn’t always fun for them or for us but I would crack up sometimes watching Flynn and Wyatt just—they were like two cars speeding towards each other and each of them was too damn stubborn to turn away before they crashed into each other and made this metaphorical fireball. It was a mess. But God, he’d do anything for that guy. When Wyatt—Flynn just about lost his mind when Wyatt was shot. He’d be just so fucking soft with the two of them and I don’t know about the rest of you but it was great to just—just be able to witness that.

“On top of it all, I don't know, maybe most importantly—when you’re stuck and the chips are down and everyone’s firing, he’s the man you want by your side. Got my ass kicked by him a few times and then once we were on the same team he volunteered to help me get better at hand to hand, stop relying on my gun so much. Taught me strategy and shit. Delta Force could use him, hell anyone could use him. I always knew he had my back.”

There was a long, long silence before Denise spoke. They all just sort of drank quietly, waiting. Rufus had a few funny moments he wanted to share, but he had a feeling they all needed to say their speeches first.

At last, Denise spoke.

“I don’t know how we’re going to win this without him,” she said. “He had Rittenhouse scared to death when he took the Mothership and we were against him. And even when he was in jail we had to keep going to him for help. He’s the best asset we had and without him I’m not sure how we’ll do. Lucy’s really stepped up since São Paulo and we’re charting a course but I’ll admit that I wish Flynn was there to give his opinion.

“He was a solid man and the only other one who knew what it was like to be a parent, and it was nice to know that he was there, in that way. I think I was a little too hard on him sometimes. But I hope that he knew how much I valued him as a member of the team. I think maybe… I should’ve let him loose a little more, lengthened the leash. But in any case. He’s missed.”

Rufus wanted to make a crack about the sappiness of that speech, but he kept it to himself. There was another long silence, and then Dave piped up.

“Hey do any of you know what happened on the boys’ trip to save Kennedy?”

Most people shook their heads, including Rufus. “In my timeline that was me, Wyatt, and Flynn.”

Dave grinned. “Oh boy, you guys are gonna love this. So, Lucy’s sick from that stab wound in Salem right? And…”

Rufus squeezed Jiya’s shoulders and relaxed back against the couch, listening.

He hoped that Flynn, wherever he was, could hear and appreciate this.

 

* * *

 

Lucy listened quietly from the shadows, a bit of a ways down the hallway. She wanted to stay. She wanted to keep hearing all those wonderful things. It hurt that all this appreciation was being said after Flynn was gone, but at least it was being said at all.

But she couldn’t stay.

This would be the only time everyone was distracted, their guards down. Wyatt was asleep in bed—it was amazing what two pills of melatonin would do when slipped into someone’s coco—and she wouldn’t get another chance.

She’d put on her boots and jeans, a t shirt, and Flynn’s black leather jacket. It was warm and comfy and smelled like him, and it was big enough that it swallowed her up, hid her form. Wyatt’s gun was always right by the bed, so it was alarmingly easy to ease the drawer open and slip it out, tuck it into the small of her back. It was heavy and cold in her hand, but after so long—she knew how to use it.

The door alarm was the hardest, but also the easiest. She’d disabled it that morning, earning herself some burned fingers in the process, but now she didn’t have to worry about it at all.

She slipped out the door, closing it carefully behind her, and then climbed up the stairs into the cool, welcoming night. Denise’s car was still there—and thanks to Wyatt, she knew how to hotwire it.

Once she got the car started she pulled the map up on her phone.

Pasadena, California.

Lucy put the car in drive and pulled away.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt woke up from an unusually deep and comfortable sleep. He hadn’t slept that well since… since Flynn had died.

He put it down to Lucy. After she’d visited Flynn in São Paulo, she’d had energy again. It was like getting to see him one last time and giving him the journal with the information about his death had spurred her forward. She’d been disappointed when she’d come back and Flynn wasn’t alive, but she wasn’t letting that stop her, either.

Denise put it down to the therapy and antidepressants, as well as Lucy actually getting out of bed and doing shit again like eating properly. Wyatt knew it wasn’t just that, though. It was Flynn, seeing him.

He didn’t begrudge Lucy getting to be with him again. He just wished he’d gotten to go too. But Flynn had said he’d only seen Lucy, and given the state Lucy had told him Flynn had been in… maybe dealing with Wyatt wouldn’t have been the best thing at that time.

He rolled over, ready to say hello to Lucy—

Her side of the bed was cold.

Wyatt frowned. “Luce?” he called.

He sat up, frowning. Huh. Maybe she’d gotten up early.

But she wasn’t in the shower, or the kitchen, or the Lifeboat.

That was when he started to get worried.

“Amy!” Wyatt banged on the door to the room Amy shared with Dave. “Amy, is Lucy in there?”

A very annoyed and sleep-rumpled Amy opened the door, squinting at him. “No, she’s not here, do you know what fucking time it is?”

“She’s not anywhere,” Wyatt said, fear starting to rush up through his spine and his stomach, choking him.

Amy went from annoyed to alert, her body jolting and eyes going wide. “Fuck. Dave!”

Dave sat up in bed. “This better be good.”

“Lucy’s missing,” Amy said, pushing past Wyatt and rushing into the living room to pick up the emergency phone.

The red emergency phone in the kitchen was there to call Denise if something happened while she was gone. So far, they hadn’t had to use it.

Looked like now was the time.

Wyatt ran into the bedroom again while Amy called Denise. Now that he was looking for it he could see—Lucy’s phone was gone. Her boots were gone—Flynn’s leather jacket was no longer hanging in the closet—

A horrible suspicion entered his mind and he froze.

He opened the bedside drawer.

His gun was gone.

 

* * *

 

Lucy drove all night, stopping around dawn and pulling over to the side of the road, using Flynn’s jacket as a pillow and putting the gun underneath, in case anyone decided she’d be an easy target.

Then she got up and drove some more.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt couldn’t stop pacing, his very blood, his bones, everything in him itching. “Where would she go? Why? Why would she leave?”

“The Lifeboat’s still here,” Dave pointed out. “So it’s not to see Flynn.”

“My car’s not here,” Denise added.

“But where the hell would she go?” Wyatt repeated. “Everyone she cares about is here. Amy’s here, her friends are here, the Lifeboat is here, I’m here—”

Jiya’s eyes rolled back into her head.

“Whoa!” Rufus said, helping her settle onto the couch.

Jiya lay there shaking slightly for a moment before her eyes rolled forward and she sat up like a shot. “She’s going to kill someone.”

“Who?” Jiya’s visions had gotten more reliable in the sense that she could tap into them and purposefully look for a person or event, but they were also unreliable in that she was only seeing one potential future, one of possibly many timelines that could occur.

“An older woman, a little heavyset, reddish hair. She’s in Southern California. I saw the CalTech sign for some reason, that’s got to be significant.”

“That’s where you went to school.”

“Yeah, but I’m not connected to this.”

“Why would Lucy want to hurt someone? That’s not like her.” Or at least, it hadn’t been like her. Wyatt wasn’t so sure now. He could remember Lucy’s anger at the universe, her screaming that it wasn’t fair.

If she couldn’t bring Flynn back—could she have found a way to somehow get what she thought was revenge?

Rufus spoke at the same moment that Wyatt realized it. “Emma,” Rufus said. “Emma went to CalTech. And you said the woman had red hair.”

“Yes.”

“I bet you anything that’s Emma’s mom. Um, her name was… Joanna.”

“Shit,” Wyatt breathed. “Lucy’s going to kill her and she’s gonna make sure Emma knows it was her.”

Denise put her face in her hands. “The pills,” she said, her voice slightly muffled. “Antidepressants, they can give you energy, they make you feel motivated again.”

“Motivated enough to do what she’d already wanted—get revenge.”

“Even the scales,” Mason intoned. “Emma ordered the _Lusitania_ to not be sunk, she sent agents after you all, in Lucy’s mind it’s Emma’s fault.”

“Emma killed Mom,” Amy added. “Emma—she’s taken everything from us.”

“We have to stop her.” Wyatt grabbed his jacket. “If Lucy does this—this execution, there’s—she’ll hate herself for it later. We have to stop her.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jiya said, standing up.

Wyatt looked over at her. “No offense, but… why?”

Jiya took a deep breath. “Because Flynn’s death has been changing.”

Dave dropped his coffee mug into his cereal bowl. Amy’s mouth fell open.

“What?” Denise snapped, dropping her hands.

“He still died so I wasn’t sure—I had to be sure,” Jiya insisted. “But when I go back and look at his death, in my visions, it’s changing. I think—I think that our going on other missions has a butterfly effect. We’re still changing the timeline, even retroactively. And if we’re doing that…”

“…we can find a way to change it where he survives,” Wyatt breathed. His chest contracted with painful hope.

Jiya nodded. “That’ll be the one thing to convince Lucy not to do this—save Flynn. If she kills Joanna—”

“Emma will do everything to make sure Flynn can’t come back,” Rufus finished up. “Like she did with Amy in our first timeline, the one Wyatt and I are from.”

“ _Shit_.” Wyatt looked at Denise. “Permission, ma’am, please, for Jiya and I to go.”

“Wyatt you don’t legally—”

“I’ll be careful and I won’t get arrested. Please.”

Denise stared him down for a long moment—and then nodded. “Fine. Jiya, keep him in line. And keep an eye out—I doubt Emma’s just left her mother wide open to attack. There might be Rittenhouse agents keeping an eye out for something like this.”

“Yes ma’am.” Wyatt grabbed his jacket as Jiya kissed Rufus and put on her shoes.

Then they were flying out the door.

 

* * *

 

Lucy pulled into the driveway of the house. It was a very nice house. Probably cost a lot. Emma might have had to camp out in the 19th century wilderness for years but Rittenhouse had paid her enough to put her mom up in style.

It was a quiet street—Lucy made sure the silencer was on. Those things were never as quiet as the movies made them out to be but hopefully it would muffle the gunshot enough where a neighbor wouldn’t hear it.

She tucked the gun into the small of her back, double checked the address, and then looked at herself in the mirror. Makeup and hair done, a nice casual shirt, some jeans. A big, wide smile.

After all, she’d had to do a lot of research to find this place. She’d hate to point a gun in the face of the wrong person.

Lucy got out of the car and walked up, admiring the manicured garden—huge waste of water—before ringing the doorbell.

An older, slightly heavyset woman answered it, her red hair fading into gray. “Hello?”

“Joanna Whitmore?” Lucy smiled. “Hi, I’m Lucy. I’m a friend of Emma’s, she sent me to check up on you? May I come in?”

Joanna Whitmore smiled right back at her, her eyes lighting up. “Of course! Come right on in.”

Feeling for the gun at her back, Lucy walked into the house.


	6. Chapter 6

_The Lusitania ~ May 7 th, 1915_

Sometimes, Wyatt really hated his job.

Forcing _The Lusitania_ to sink instead of just letting it sail on, forcing over a thousand lives to be lost… it wasn’t fun.

Wyatt double checked around the corner as Flynn prepared the equipment to blow a hole in the side of the boat, since Rittenhouse had been oh so kind as to divert the German U boat that had originally blown a hole in the ship.

The thing was, he doubted that Rittenhouse would be content to just turn away the boat and call it a day. They’d know the Time Team had to be on the boat too.

If only there was someone they could talk to that could help them make sure those agents were taking care of.

“How’re we doing?” he whispered over to Flynn.

“Just another minute,” Flynn replied, grunting.

Ironic that he’d met Flynn by trying to stop him from blowing up a ship (an airship, but still) and was now helping him to do that exact same thing.

Wyatt turned back around—and got clocked in the face.

He went down, the world swimming. The Rittenhouse agent kicked him in the ribs, sending him to the ground. Wyatt grabbed him, flipping the guy onto his back—but then another agent was walking past, gun in hand, not even looking at Wyatt.

“Flynn!” he bellowed, grappling with the agent on the ground with him. He heard yelling and then—then a gunshot.

Wyatt managed to get on top of the guy he was wrestling with, gripping his throat and viciously banging his head onto the ground. The man slumped.

Wyatt staggered to his feet and ran around the corner. “Garcia!”

Flynn was on the ground. He wasn’t moving.

The Rittenhouse agent, gun still in hand, started to turn but Wyatt launched himself at him, tackling him to the ground. He didn’t know what came over him in that moment, only that the world was red, red, red, and there was a voice in the back of his head that wondered if this was what he would’ve done if he’d had Jess’s killer underneath his hands, and he was squeezing, and squeezing, and squeezing, and it was only when the body underneath him stopped twitching that he realized he’d strangled the man to death.

He got to his feet, bile rising in his throat. He’d never—he’d shot people and that was all kinds of messed up but this was—this was a new—this was like being in that motel room all over again, the storm raging around them, except that—that he’d _meant_ to do it this time. He wanted that man dead, he was glad he was dead.

Wyatt moved over to Flynn, praying, hoping…

Headshot.

“Fuck,” Wyatt blurted out, his voice wet and thick. “No, no, c’mon, no.” He didn’t even get to say goodbye? He didn’t even get to say _I love you_ one last time?

Flynn had given Wyatt his gun to hold while he worked. If he’d had it, if only he’d had it he could’ve fired back, he wouldn’t have—

The equipment was all still there, waiting, poised. Wyatt knew enough about explosives to make this work.

He wanted to drag Flynn up through the ship, to give him some kind of—he didn’t even know, some kind of proper burial, maybe, but… but Lucy shouldn’t have to see this.

Wyatt worked Flynn’s wedding ring off and put it in his pocket. Lucy would want it, she deserved to have it.

He dragged Flynn to the side and closed his eyes, resting his hands on his chest. There was no time for words or anything more, and Wyatt couldn’t have talked through his tight throat even if he’d known what to say.

Then he finished setting up the explosion.

He ran through the ship, water splashing around his feet. Up on deck it was insanity, understandably. “Lucy!” he yelled.

“Here!” She waved, standing over by one of the lifeboats, Rufus with her. “Here—excuse me that’s my—that’s my husband excuse me—Wyatt!”

He ran up to her. “Where’s Flynn?” she asked immediately.

Wyatt knew how she’d react, so instead he asked, “Which lifeboat are we on?”

“Lifeboat 9. It’s not fully loaded but will pick up a few extra passengers that fell into the water.” She paused. “Why?”

“Flynn’s dead,” he told her, then picked her up around the waist and marched her into Lifeboat 9.

Lucy started kicking him immediately. “Wyatt—Wyatt what do you mean he’s—put me down! Wyatt Logan you put me down right this second—Flynn!”

“He’s not coming, Luce.” Wyatt blinked back his tears as he set her down in the boat.

“No!” Lucy scratched at him, hit him, trying to get past him back onto the ship. “No, you’re—you’re lying! You’re lying! Flynn!”

“Her husband’s on there,” Rufus said quickly as some of the crewmen started to stare.

“No, no, no.” Lucy was starting to hyperventilate. Wyatt crouched down in front of her, shaking her slightly.

“Breathe, honey, you have to breathe. Lucy!”

She was hyperventilating, rocking a little, still screaming for Flynn and Wyatt didn’t know what to do, he didn’t _know_.

He just held her and tried to soothe her as Lucy descended into hiccuping sobs.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt drove like he was bootlegging all over again, his foot on the pedal as Jiya worriedly looked around for highway patrol.

“You don’t have a license,” she hissed when the speedometer hit ninety.

“And she’s got a big head start,” Wyatt shot back.

Jiya looked like she wanted to contest that but knew she couldn’t, and simply gave a little sigh.

 

* * *

 

Lucy sat at the table while Joanna got out some cups for tea. Lovely woman, really. This was such a pity.

She got out the gun and then her phone, setting the latter up against the small potted plant on the table like a tripod. Then she started the video recording.

“You know, I think we’ll skip the tea,” she said, pointing the gun at Joanna. “If you’ll turn around and come sit next to me?”

Joanna turned—and dropped one of the mugs, sending it shattering onto the kitchen floor.

“Right here, please,” Lucy said, patting the chair next to her, right in front of the camera. She smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, we’re just going to talk for now. I’m going to tell you a story.”

Joanna walked over slowly, sitting down. There was genuine, naked fear in her eyes. “You aren’t a friend of Emma’s, are you?”

“No,” Lucy said lightly. “I’m the wife of the man she murdered. Which actually segues nicely into my story. You see, once upon a time…”

 

* * *

 

Periodically, Jiya would roll her eyes back and slump into the seat, shaking for a minute or two before she came back. About the time Wyatt was on his third coffee, she shot straight up.

“It’s changed,” she said. “He was in the bottom of the ship with you—Rittenhouse deliberately targeted him.”

“Because of Lucy killing Emma’s mom?”

“It must be. Before it was always just one agent chasing you two and Flynn’s death was practically an accident. This time it was... it was an execution.”

Wyatt clenched his jaw. “And that’s how it is now?”

“I only see possibilities, Wyatt.”

“How do I know that we can even control it? That we could even change things for the better?”

“Well, how were things for you the first time? There has to be something that changed from the first time to the second. If we can pinpoint that, the flashpoint—then we can work from there.”

Wyatt suspected she was just getting him to talk so he’d stop gripping the steering wheel like he was strangling someone, but he played along, detailing what he remembered.

“Okay.” Jiya sat in thought. “Well, what about the mission after? That was the one where you left and he was okay but came back and he was...” She trailed off.

“The thing is... it’s going to sound weird, but on the mission, I shot a guy who I could’ve sworn was the same guy who was after Flynn and me on the _Lusitania_.”

“That’s not weird.”

“But it’s useless. We were on the _Lusitania_ before we were on that mission.”

“Maybe for you, but not for him.” Jiya tapped on her thigh, like she was thinking. “It could be a River Song timeline.”

“A what.”

“You’ve never seen _Doctor Who_?”

“...no?”

Jiya sighed. “Okay. So the main character meets a woman called River Song. She knows him intimately, she’s met him several times, but he’s never met her. Each time he meets her he knows her more, and she knows him less. Their timelines are literally running opposite.”

“That’s possible?”

“Well, Flynn met Lucy in São Paulo. He met a Lucy who was in love with him and knew him. But Flynn never knew her before. Then they meet at the _Hindenburg_ , and he knows her from once before but she’s never met him before. Rittenhouse put sleeper agents in a time and place and kept them there for years. What if that was year three for him, and he was supposed to survive and be on the Lusitania? We still don’t fully understand what we’re playing around with here.”

“So then it’s a different guy who takes us on, and he’s able to catch up to Flynn.”

“Right. Then Lucy tried to change it by putting it in the journal so he’d have knowledge of his death and could prevent it.”

“But that guy’s still a problem. So we have to get him out of the picture.”

“Somehow, yes.” Jiya rubbed her temples. “This is—difficult enough in theory. Harder in execution. But if we’re patient...”

“Denise won’t let us devote all our resources to bringing Flynn back. Not when it’ll take us away from stopping Rittenhouse.”

“We’ll figure that out when we stop Lucy,” Jiya said grimly. “Denise misses him too, remember.”

Yeah, but did she miss him enough. And would Flynn even want them to possibly lose the war to get him back?

Wyatt shoved that thought aside. First things first: Lucy.

He’d worry about the rest later.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” Joanna said, and she sounded truly apologetic. “I’m sorry about your husband, I really am. I don’t know anything about what Emma’s been up to but she’s a good girl. She always wanted to take care of me. There must be some misunderstanding—”

“I tell you that your daughter’s in charge of an organization to take over the world using time travel and you think there’s some kind of misunderstanding?” Lucy laughed. “Hey, Emma, I guess you get all your bitchiness from your dad, huh?”

Confusion crossed Joanna’s face, and Lucy tapped the phone. “I’m recording this. So that Emma knows why you died, and that you died knowing just what kind of person your daughter became. And so that she can see it happen.” She cocked the gun. “And so that she can know that her mother’s last moments were spent in fear, begging for her life.”

 

* * *

 

Wyatt slammed to a stop in front of the house, not even turning the car off, just throwing it into park as he and Jiya scrambled out. He pulled out the backup gun that Denise had given him—he didn’t want to shoot Lucy but he’d damn well get her in the foot if that was what it took.

Inside, they could hear someone crying. “Please. Please don’t do this, please, I—I know you’re upset but please, _please_ —”

“You’re very good at this.” Wyatt’s heart stopped. Lucy sounded—she sounded light, and casual, and completely terrifying. “I’d almost think you’d done this before. Is this really your first hostage situation?” She sounded like a television show host.

Wyatt nodded at Jiya, who quietly reached for the door handle and turned it silently.

He slipped inside, gun pointed at the floor, Jiya behind him.

They were in the kitchen. Lucy sat at one corner of the table, gun—his gun—pointed at Joanna Whitmore. Joanna herself was a wreck, shaking, her face red and wet with tears.

“Lucy.” Wyatt raised the gun, just slightly, so she could see he had it. “Drop it.”

Lucy looked startled, perhaps even guilty, to see him. “Wyatt.”

“Who are you?” Joanna asked, confusion overriding her fear momentarily.

“My other husband,” Lucy said, glaring at Wyatt. “And my teammate. Both of whom will stay out of this if they know what’s good for them.”

“Don’t do this,” Wyatt said. “Lucy, I know you think you want to but you really, really don’t.”

“What have we discussed concerning your deciding what I do and don’t want?” Lucy replied, her tone light but sharp as a knife.

“Lucy. Flynn wouldn’t want this.”

“Wrong answer.” Lucy’s grip on the gun tightened and Joanna whimpered. “Flynn would _understand_.”

Wyatt almost had to laugh at that. “You’re—you genuinely think that? Lucy the last thing Garcia ever wanted was for you to know war like we did. You aren’t some delicate flower, I get that and I’m sorry I ever thought about you that way but if you think Flynn wanted you to experience—he hated what he had to do to fight Rittenhouse, you know that!”

“But he did it anyway.”

“This isn’t fighting Rittenhouse! This is—it’s just straight up vengeance!”

“And what would you know about that?”

“I know because I did it!”

Jiya stared at him. “I’m missing something here.”

Lucy’s face was white. Wyatt forced himself to keep talking. “I stole the Lifeboat with Rufus. I went back in time, and I tried to stop the conception of the guy I thought killed Jessica. I ended up killing his father instead. It was an accident but—but I still did it. Because I was so desperate and blinded by the need to bring her back—I would’ve done anything to bring her back and none of it, not one bit of it was what Jess would’ve wanted.

“Don’t make the same mistake that I did. Please. Flynn wouldn’t want you to do this anymore than Jess would’ve wanted me to do what I did. Put the gun down. Let’s go home.”

Lucy regarded him for a moment, heartbreak in her eyes. “If you understood, then why did you pull away? Why weren’t you there?”

Wyatt’s heart sank.

“I needed you,” Lucy whispered. “I was drowning and I needed you and you! Weren’t! There!”

“Listen, listen Lucy please I know I sucked at this. I know I wasn’t what you needed while you were hurting. I pulled away and that was stupid and selfish but I’m here now and I am begging you please, please don’t do this.” Wyatt felt like he was in nothing short of agony, his voice breaking. “Luce once you do this you can’t go back from it you can’t cross back over the line, you cross over and the line is gone, it’s just gone.”

“I lost him.” Lucy’s hand trembled where it held the gun. Fuck, if it went off by accident… “Wyatt I—I lost him and I didn’t even get to say goodbye—and you’re acting like I should just—what, move on?”

“I lost a husband too!” Wyatt bellowed. “Fuck, Lucy, I’m sorry I was shit at helping you but you’re not the only one in love with him. I lost my husband same as you. You talk like I don’t know what it’s like when I have to deal with that—that empty space and that cold side of the bed and his shit in the closet, I have to deal with it too! You don’t get a monopoly on grieving him!”

“At least I’m doing something to bring him back!”

“You begged Flynn not to kill John Rittenhouse, remember? You begged him. You stood in the way. Remember that, Lucy, please. That’s who you are, that’s who you really are. Not this.”

“I was wrong,” she hissed through her tears. “I should’ve let him do it. This would’ve been all over long ago if I hadn’t kept getting in his way.”

“But he never would’ve wanted you to carry that burden. He never did. He kept begging you to stay out of his way so you wouldn’t.”

Lucy looked at him with an infinite kind of sadness. “I really wish we’d talked like this so much earlier.”

Then she raised the gun.

 

* * *

 

“No!”

Jiya screamed, running forward, planting herself in between Lucy’s gun and Joanna. Lucy relaxed her grip on the trigger just in time. “Lucy. Lucy stop.”

“Get out of my way, Jiya.”

“Or, what, you’ll shoot me too? You’ve gone that far into crazyland?” Jiya’s eyes blazed with defiance. “I’m not moving.”

“I will make you move.”

“Lucy what the fuck,” Wyatt choked.

“Fine,” Jiya said. She stepped back, out of the way. “Go ahead. But if you shoot her—you won’t get Flynn back.”

Lucy hesitated, her gut churning. Fear, anger, hate, desperation, love, they all swirled in her like a maelstrom. “How do you know that?”

Jiya pointed at the phone. “You send that to Emma? She’ll go after Flynn. It won’t just be a twist of fate that gets him on the ship. The agents will execute him. Headshot. He’ll be dead in an instant. Wyatt won’t even get to say goodbye, never mind you.”

“H-how do you know this?” She thought she might throw up, the world tilting dangerously underneath her.

“My visions. I’ll use them to help you, to figure out how to get Flynn back. But not,” Jiya’s voice hardened, “if you shoot this woman. If you kill her, I’ll never help you, and Flynn’ll be lost forever.”

“You’d condemn him,” Lucy snapped, her eyes hot and itchy. “You—you called him a father to you and you’re—you’re holding his life hostage.”

“I’m doing what he’d want me to do to protect you from yourself,” Jiya replied. “You’re spiraling, the way I did after Rufus died. And you all kept me in line. It’s time for me to return the favor. Because I know Flynn would rather be dead than see you do this to yourself.”

“And how do I know that you’re not just blowing smoke up my ass?” she snapped, anger rising again in a final, feeble protest.

“Because like you said. Flynn was—Flynn was family to me. He was family to all of us. I want him back.”

Lucy looked at Jiya for a moment. The girl who Flynn had loved like a daughter, the girl who had fought tooth and nail to get Rufus back, the girl she binged crap reality TV with.

She looked over at Wyatt, at his heartbroken face. Maybe she had been… selfish. Maybe she and Wyatt both had abandoned each other to their grief.

She remembered Flynn cradling her in Chinatown, holding her, telling her to stop.

Maybe—maybe they were right.

She set down the gun on the table.

Joanna burst into tears of relief as Wyatt sprinted forward, pulling her into his arms. “Luce, Luce, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry honey, it’s okay.”

She was shaking, shaking so very hard, it felt like she was falling apart. Someone sobbed and she realized it was her.

“Shh, shh, Lucy, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, I’ll always have you, I’m so sorry. I should’ve done better, I’m so sorry.”

Wyatt rocked her, and rocked her, and rocked her, unknowingly just as he did in another timeline, in a tiny lifeboat, in the middle of the sea.

 

* * *

 

The Lifeboat landed in England, 1914, on June 1st. In twenty eight days Archduke Franz Ferdinand would be assassinated and World War I would break out as France and Germany declared war on each other.

Seeing as WWI and WWII were two favorite targets of Rittenhouse, the team felt it was prudent to put safeguards in place to make sure any Rittenhouse agents would be branded as enemies and not trusted by either side in the war.

That was why Wyatt and Dave were in London.

Lucy and Rufus, however, went to Liverpool.

They went to the local police station.

Detective Inspector William Pierpoint mulled over the papers he’d received. He didn’t know there was a war about to break out, and his superiors didn’t know that either, but he’d just that morning been tapped as a potential secret investigator just in case war did break out, because anyone who’d had their thumb on the pulse of Europe the past five years knew that shit was going to go down one way or another. The question was merely how and when. Personally he wasn’t quite sure he had the stomach for such adventure, especially at age fifty.

There was a knock at the door.

He looked up, and saw a very pretty brunette standing in the doorway. A dark-skinned man hovered behind her, looking worried.

“Pardon me,” she said, her accent decidedly American. “Are you William Pierpoint?”

“At your service, ma’am.” He stood up and set the papers aside. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here with British Intelligence, cooperating in a joint effort with the United States in the event of a war in Europe.” She smiled, holding out her hand. “They asked me to help get you started on your training. The name’s Lucy Preston.”

Pierpoint smiled, shaking her hand. Well, if all the agents were as pretty and vivacious as this one… “Charmed, I’m sure.”

 

* * *

 

 "How'd it go?" Wyatt asked as Lucy and Rufus rejoined him and Dave at the Lifeboat.

"We'll know when we get home," she replied.

 _Home_. Where Flynn might be waiting for them. If they'd made the dominos fall in the right way, if they'd plucked the right strings. Denise had allowed this mission because they could fight Rittenhouse at the same time with it, but who knew if she'd let them try again. This might be their only chance.

Lucy grabbed his hands. "I'm sorry. You were right, I was—I was selfish."

"No, I was too." He brought her hands up, kissing her knuckles. "Whatever happens, I want to do better in that. I—I know it might seem like I love Flynn more but I—I don't. I love you just as much. And I was shit at showing that. And I'm sorry."

"I think we're equal in that." She squeezed his hands. "I love you, too. No matter what comes."

"Yo, are you two going to stand around being lovey-dovey all day?" Rufus called. "He's my friend too, y'know, and this suit itches."

Lucy used her grip on Wyatt's hands to lead him into the Lifeboat—towards whatever, and whoever, was waiting.


	7. Chapter 7

_The Lusitania ~ May 7 th, 1915_

Sometimes, Wyatt really hated his job.

Forcing _The Lusitania_ to sink instead of just letting it sail on, forcing over a thousand lives to be lost… it wasn’t fun.

Wyatt double checked around the corner as Flynn prepared the equipment to blow a hole in the side of the boat, since Rittenhouse had been oh so kind as to divert the German U boat that had originally blown a hole in the ship.

The thing was, he doubted that Rittenhouse would be content to just turn away the boat and call it a day. They’d know the Time Team had to be on the boat too.

If only there was someone they could talk to that could help them make sure those agents were taking care of.

 

* * *

 

Lucy walked with Rufus through the dining room. “This place is fancier than I expected,” he whispered to her.

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” she agreed.

“And those first class rooms…” The first class cabins had been almost empty and so most of the second class passengers got an upgrade, including them.

“Miss Preston?”

Lucy paused and turned to see a gentleman of about fifty standing to the side. He smiled at her. “Miss Preston, it is you. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Yes, what a surprise!” she said, smiling.

Rufus gave her a _who the hell is this_ smile.

“Are you traveling with your husband?” the man asked. “Mr. Logan?”

“Ah, yes, he’s—ah, down below somewhere.”

The man turned to Rufus. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meet you last time, I’m William Pierpoint.”

Lucy’s heart leapt. “Mr. Pierpoint is a detective,” she told Rufus. “Mr. Pierpoint, this is my associate Rufus Carlin.”

The two men shook hands. Lucy leaned in. “Are you here on business, Mr. Pierpoint?”

Pierpoint looked around, then leaned in as well. “Normally, of course, I wouldn’t say such a thing but since I know you’re also with intelligence… I’m keeping an eye out for German spies.”

Lucy gasped. “Oh, then you must help us!”

“Really?”

“We’ve been tracking three…” Well, she hoped that was the right number. “…three German spies on the ship. We think they’re somewhere down below, that’s where my husband is. Mr. Carlin and I thought we’d check up here in case they were pretending to be staff.”

“I’ll go and assist Mr. Logan then.” Pierpoint gave a sharp, conspiratorial nod and headed off.

“What the hell was that about?” Rufus asked. “How did he know us?”

“I’m not sure,” Lucy said slowly, “but having him as an ally can’t hurt, can it?”

 

* * *

 

Wyatt turned to look around the corner—and nearly ran smack into a man. “Mr. Logan!”

Wyatt stared at him. “Hi!”

“Your wife said you’d be down here. Have you caught any sign of them?”

Lucy had sent him—and mentioned ‘them’. That must mean Rittenhouse. Somehow, she’d gotten this man on their side, and had found out there were Rittenhouse people on this ship.

Now he just had to keep the guy away from Flynn, working on, y’know, just the minutely worrying issue of blowing a hole in the ship.

“I haven’t,” Wyatt replied. “But I’ve been trying to find them, I believe they’re stowaways. I just cleared this area.”

“I’ll join you.”

Wyatt moved away from Flynn, leading this guy—whoever he was—down through the bowels of the ship. “There are at least two,” he told him, passing him Flynn’s gun.

They rounded the corner—and stared at three very, very surprised looking Rittenhouse agents.

Wyatt fired into the leg of one, downing him, as his newfound friend fired as well. One of the Rittenhouse agents pulled his gun but Wyatt ducked, slamming into the man’s chest with his shoulder, sending them both tumbling.

Thank God he was always sparring with Flynn. Wyatt flipped the guy, landing on top, and put his gun in the guy’s face. “Don’t. Move.”

His new ally grinned at him. “Nice show, Logan.”

Wyatt looked at him. “I hate to say this, man, but could you please tell me who the hell you are again?”

The guy looked confused—and then there was a roar, and a rush of water, and Wyatt didn’t care who this guy was because _Flynn_.

“Garcia!” he yelled, rushing back to where Flynn had been.

The boiler room was a mess, water flowing in. Flynn was still on his feet, but his shirt and jacket were torn and he was cradling his arm against his chest.

“Got it,” he grunted. “I think I bruised my ribs—and I definitely bruised my fucking arm.”

Wyatt got Flynn’s good arm around his shoulders and supported him as they hurried up through the ship. “We’re sinking!” he yelled at their still-nameless friend as they ran past him. “A fucking torpedo!”

“A torpedo!?” the man sounded appalled. “Those German bastards—”

“Later, let’s move!” _The Lusitania_ only had eighteen minutes.

Wyatt searched the deck for Lucy, trying to find her among the throng of panicked passengers. “Lucy!”

“Here!” She waved to them. “Here—excuse me that’s my—that’s my husband excuse me—Wyatt! Flynn!”

They hurried over, Flynn stumbling a little. Lucy balked. “What happened!?”

“It’s fine, just a broken bone, we nabbed Rittenhouse.”

“We need to get onto Lifeboat 9. It’s not fully loaded but will pick up some extra passengers that fell into the water.”

Wyatt nodded, hugging her tightly. The ship was still listing, though, so he let her go and jumped on the ropes, helping the crewmen while Lucy tended to Flynn.

They plunged into the water, the cold spray coating them, and then there was nothing to do but row and try to pick up who they could. Lucy scrambled up to the prow, calling out names, trying to find the right people. Wyatt sat with Flynn, keeping him warm as Rufus helped row.

Their Lifeboat was back in New York City. It was going to be annoying as hell to get back.

But at least they’d all made it out alive.

 

* * *

 

_Present Timeline_

 

They got off the Lifeboat, Lucy’s bones aching. She couldn’t help but wonder if traveling through time was anything like being an astronaut and if they were all setting themselves up for chronic pain later on in their lives.

She couldn’t help but hope, since they’d met Pierpoint… he had been on _The Lusitania_ , but of course now that they’d met him he might never have been on the ship…

“How’d it go?” Denise asked.

“Well, I think,” she replied, heading down the steps with Wyatt right behind her. “But we’ll know for certain when we check…”

Her voice trailed away as she saw someone walking—no, sauntering, because God forbid he do anything without at least fifty percent sass—into the room behind Denise.

Flynn’s arm was in a cast and it looked like his chest was wrapped up too. “Hey, _lijepa djevojka_ , miss me?”

All of the breath left her body and for a moment she could only stand there.

Then she started to run.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt was helping Rufus move the Lifeboat stairs out of the way, so he saw him a split second after Lucy did, when he turned to look over his shoulder, wondering why she’d stopped talking.

Flynn. _Garcia_. Standing there, none the worse for wear, smiling at Lucy, smiling at both of them, relaxed and easy—

Lucy gave a helpless sob and started running, running, launching herself at Flynn. He caught her with his good arm, letting her smash her face into his chest, her nails practically clawing at him as she scrambled to get closer, like she wanted to crawl inside of him.

Wyatt couldn’t move.

Flynn seemed surprised by her reaction but not by the physical closeness. Wyatt was certain that Flynn and Lucy would be together in any universe. Any timeline.

He wasn’t sure where he stood, though.

He’d lost Flynn once before this way. Had come back to find that he didn’t exist. That Flynn didn’t know him, didn’t love him.

Wyatt wasn’t sure, after losing Flynn in a much more permanent way, if he could stand to go through that again.

But then Flynn looked up, a slightly confused but worried expression on his face. He set Lucy down—she continued to cling to him—and reached out with his good arm.

“Come here, _Schnecke_ ,” he said softly.

Wyatt felt his heart twist. Flynn called him two pet names: _Liebling_ was the more common one. It was German for ‘darling’, and Flynn had never said it out loud, but they understood it was a concession to how Wyatt was still at times uncomfortable with showing public affection for Flynn, and vice versa. Saying it a language that Wyatt spoke but most other people didn’t was a convenient loophole for Wyatt’s psych.

But anybody could call someone ‘darling’ in any language. _Schnecke_ , though… it meant snail, in German, and came about because Wyatt was cranky in the mornings, barely human until he’d had coffee.

Flynn would come up to him, wrap an arm around him and put the coffee in his hands. “Good morning, _Schnecke_ ,” he would say, his voice low and soothing.

Wyatt thought that something inside of him had cracked open, that he would crumble and collapse if he didn’t reach out and touch Flynn, make sure he was real, because this was _their_ Flynn. Not just _a_ Flynn. Not Lucy’s Flynn. Theirs. Only their Flynn would call him that.

He crossed over, sinking into Flynn’s side, letting Flynn wrap his arm around him. He buried his face into the crook of Flynn’s neck and breathed him in. Flynn murmured in Croatian, his hand rubbing soothingly up and down Wyatt’s back.

Wyatt could feel himself shaking and bit his lip hard to hold in the sounds strangling his throat. He could hear Lucy spouting out words, heard Flynn continue to soothe her, but Wyatt couldn’t stand any of that. He couldn’t handle it, right now.

Because Flynn would want to know what had happened.

And that meant he had to know what Wyatt had done.

So he just held on, kept breathing Flynn in, kept feeling the warmth and softness of his skin, the strength in his arm as he held him, the way Flynn’s chest moved slow and easy up and down as he breathed.

He had to hold onto Flynn while he still could.

 

* * *

 

Something was wrong with Wyatt.

Flynn was sitting on the bed, Lucy in his lap, her head on his shoulder. He’d explained to them how he’d gotten injured on the _Lusitania_ and since then had been staying back on missions while he healed.

He’d been injured a few times before but it never got any less annoying. Or painful.

Lucy wouldn’t stop touching him. Flynn had quickly figured out that he’d been dead, for them. That something had gone wrong and then been made right again.

Wyatt, though, wouldn’t even really look at him. Wouldn’t touch him, not after those first few minutes where he’d clung to Flynn and shook like a leaf.

Had—had he and Wyatt had a fight, in Wyatt’s timeline? Were they on the outs? Not married?

But no, Wyatt didn’t seem angry. He seemed scared. Like he was a puppy waiting for Flynn to kick him.

What was he waiting for? What was wrong? Had Flynn done something in their timeline, something awful, something to make Wyatt scared for him?

It made his stomach clench in self-loathing. He’d never hurt Wyatt. Never.

“So what happened?” he asked, looking at Lucy. She’d planted kisses all over his face and was now idly running her fingers up and down his good arm, always drawing back down to the wedding ring on his finger, the one he’d happily accepted from her when she’d handed it to him.

Lucy looked over at Wyatt, who gave a twitch like a rabbit and started to leave the room.

“Stay,” Lucy commanded, her voice soft.

Wyatt froze, his shoulders tensing up, but he turned and sat down at the edge of the bed. Flynn wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him, but he was suddenly unsure himself. Would he be allowed to? Would Wyatt want that?

Lucy took a deep breath, about to speak, but then Wyatt cut her off. “No, I should tell him.” He looked over at Flynn, his eyes dark and scared. “I—I did it, I should tell him.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“It was a version of me.” Wyatt cleared his throat. “Garcia, I—not in our timeline, but somehow… in our timeline, we went onto the _Lusitania_. You injured yourself. But then we went on another mission, and we ran into the sleeper agent, and I shot him. Either killed him or hit him enough to put him out of commission, we’re not sure.

“But he was running on some kind of… backwards timeline. His first meeting us was our second meeting him, and our first meeting him was his second time meeting us. So when I shot him, that meant he wasn’t on the _Lusitania_. Another guy was, a guy who got to you, and when I went to shoot that guy…”

Wyatt looked down at the sheets, his voice thick and breaking. “I shot you instead.”

Flynn’s heart clenched. Wyatt looked—broken was the only word that Flynn could think of.

“We didn’t know,” Lucy said. She rested her head on Flynn’s shoulder, throwing her legs over his lap, practically begging to be held again. He obliged her—of course he did—wrapping his arm around her to anchor her while his hand rested on her thigh. “We came back from our mission to a timeline where you didn’t—where you’d—”

“We’ve been trying to get you back for months,” Wyatt finished. “Jiya’s helped us, with her visions. She’d tell us what changed this time, that kind of thing. And then we went back in time and met this guy—”

“William Pierpoint—”

“And that changed things because—because you’re here.”

“He was on the _Lusitania_ ,” Lucy said. “He was with the Liverpool police. We were in England for the war, we’re—I don’t know about your timeline but for us we were going on the offensive against Rittenhouse so we were putting some plans in place—and so Rufus and I detoured to Liverpool to recruit him for the war effort and got to know him in the hope that it would help later on the ship. That it would—that he'd somehow help us bring you back.”

“In my timeline,” Flynn said, “Pierpoint was our ally. We made sure the _Lusitania_ sank and then blamed it on Rittenhouse, said they were three German stowaways associated with Neal Leach, a German spy.”

Lucy sagged against him in relief. Wyatt nodded, still avoiding Flynn’s gaze. “No bad guys chasing us, no need to fire, no need to fire, I don’t hit you.”

Flynn knew now why Wyatt was keeping his distance. He blamed himself. Or he thought Flynn would blame him. Or both.

“Wyatt,” he said quietly.

Wyatt looked up, like he couldn’t help himself.

Flynn reached forward, wrapping his hand around Wyatt’s upper arm and pulling him forward until Wyatt had no choice but to fall forward or crawl up to Flynn.

He chose the latter, crawling up until Flynn could get his arm around Wyatt and hold him tightly. He tipped his forehead forward until it touched Wyatt’s. Wyatt’s chest heave and a small sound, a not-quite-sob, pushed its way out with his exhale.

“I love you,” Flynn reminded him.

Wyatt shook slightly.

Flynn reached up, gently cupping Wyatt’s face. “Hey. I mean it. That doesn’t change, no matter what. Not even if you meant to, and you didn’t.”

Wyatt shook his head. “I didn’t, I swear I didn’t, I mean it wasn’t me but I know me, and I wouldn’t have, and Jiya told me I didn’t—I wouldn’t—”

“Shh. Shh. Hey. It’s okay.” Flynn rubbed his thumb along Wyatt’s jaw, back and forth. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter now. I’m here, you fixed it, that’s all that matters.”

Wyatt sank into him, his face buried in Flynn’s chest, and just shook, and shook, and shook.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt knew he was a mess. He wished he could find a way to make himself stop, but he just couldn’t. He clung to Flynn, feeling like he was going to vibrate right out of his skin. Flynn felt real, almost unbearably real, and Wyatt was so flooded with relief, but he also didn’t understand how Flynn could forgive him so easily for what he’d done. It might have been an accident but it had still had painful, terrible consequences.

Flynn didn’t seem to mind all of this emotional despair being dumped on him by both his spouses at once, and kept rubbing his hand up and down Wyatt’s back and accepting Lucy’s scattered, borderline frantic kisses for what felt like hours.

At last, Wyatt raised his head. Flynn smiled softly at him. “Am I allowed to kiss you now?” he asked, his tone wry. “Or are you going to continue to punish yourself?”

Wyatt let out a wet laugh that seemed to bubble up out of him and leaned in, letting Flynn close the distance and kiss him. It was achingly soft to start out with, and even when Flynn darted his tongue across the seam of Wyatt’s lips and then, once Wyatt opened his mouth, slid his tongue inside and against Wyatt’s, those soft edges still remained. Flynn kissed him slow and deep until Wyatt was dizzy, and then Flynn only let him pull away to take a brief gulp of air before kissing him again.

Flynn kept at it until, little by little, Wyatt relaxed against him. It had been so long since Flynn had slowly taken him apart, gotten him all pliant, that he almost wanted to cry all over again.

At last Flynn seemed to decide that he’d had enough kisses to sustain him for the time being and let Wyatt tuck himself against Flynn’s side again. Lucy reached up, running her hand through Flynn’s hair, playing with it. “You’re slightly incapacitated at the moment,” she said. “And we’re not up for it right now, but I want you to know—very, very soon, I will fuck you. Thoroughly. Multiple times.”

Flynn laughed, that wide, bright, delighted smile that only Lucy and Wyatt seemed to bring out in him blooming across his face. “You’ll never hear me complain about that, _cher_.”

Wyatt agreed with Lucy—after a good sleep. “Same here,” he mumbled.

Flynn snorted. “I’m so glad that you two didn’t decide you preferred sex without me.”

“If this is your way of trying to get us to wax poetic about your dick…” Wyatt said, the banter coming out before he could stop himself.

“I wouldn’t say wax poetic… maybe just an essay about all the ways you missed me during sex?”

“How much do I love thee?” Lucy said. “Let me count the ways. I love the depth and breadth of thy cock…”

Wyatt just about choked laughing, and he could feel Flynn shaking with laughter underneath him. “Oh my God,” he blurted out. “Luce!”

“It was right there.”

Wyatt smiled, shocked at how it came naturally instead of feeling like it was stretching across his too-small mouth. It all felt normal again, so quickly, making sex jokes and bantering with Flynn.

Could it really be that simple? That easy to fall back into the pattern with him?

Well, for Flynn it would be. He’d waved them off just that morning. It was all the same for him.

But could he and Lucy get back to that? Could they get back to… normal?

He’d never gotten so far as moving on from Jess. He’d been firmly in the ‘rage’ stage of grief. He’d never reached acceptance. But here, now, he wanted to, if only because there was no reason to mourn Flynn when Flynn was now right in front of him, deserving his full attention and love and none of his grief.

He wanted to try. He wanted to get back to normal.

He wanted to get used to having Flynn in his life again.

And maybe along the way he’d figure out how to forgive himself.

 

* * *

 

Lucy didn’t really sleep that night.

Flynn knew, because every time he woke up, she was still propped up on one elbow, watching him. Wyatt was a warm weight in his arms, his head on Flynn’s shoulder, and he tightened his hold and gave a tiny, unhappy noise whenever Flynn tried to move away.

Not that Flynn really wanted to move.

“Please don’t be a dream,” he heard Lucy whisper. Her fingers kept tracing the lines of his face, brushing through his hair, and he had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear her say that.

Flynn kept his eyes closed, listening to Lucy breathing, feeling her fingertips continuing to trace over his skin, again and again. If he’d ever had any doubt the depth of the love his spouses had for him, that was wiped away. The devastation in their bodies, in every movement, in their face and voices, was painful to see and hear.

He reached up with his free hand, catching her fingers and interlocking them with his before bringing her hand down to kiss her knuckles. He opened his eyes.

Lucy stared down at him, her face full of an aching, bone-deep sadness.

“I would see you smile again,” he whispered.

Lucy looked down at their intertwined fingers. “I’m not sure how. It’s like… I’m blinded after being in darkness for weeks.”

“Your eyes will adjust.” He let go of her hand to bring his fingers up, catching hold of her chin, holding gently. “I’m here, my darling. I’m not going anywhere, not ever again.”

“I want to believe that—but how can I—”

“We overcame it. I came back. Everything, we overcome it.” He took hold of her hand again. “Because we choose each other. _Moja ljubav_ , you could have given up and let me stay dead. But you didn’t. You fought to have me again. You fought for Wyatt when he vanished from time and for him and me to get together. We fought for you when you were forced to work for Rittenhouse. Nothing will stand in our way so long as we choose to keep fighting. And someday we’ll win this war. We will.”

Lucy stroked his face tenderly. “I’m so scared.”

“I’m scared too. My family was gone in the blink of an eye. I didn’t even get a chance to defend them. But I believe—I have to believe—that won’t happen with you two.”

“Do you ever stop being scared?”

“Somewhat. Just like you get used to the person you love not being around anymore. But it never fully stops, just as you never fully stop being sad they’re gone.”

“I hate that I had to learn to live with losing you.”

“And now you get to learn to live with me.” He smiled at her. “Need me to convince you to fall in love with me all over again? Because I will do that.”

She laughed softly. “No. No, you just… just stay.”

“Of course,” Flynn replied, the words murmured against her lips as Lucy leaned down to kiss him. “After all, someone told me once we’d be quite the team someday.”

Lucy settled down against him, her hand on his chest, her nose bumping his. “What a wise, wise person.”

Flynn tucked her against him and waited until he felt her breathing even out into the deep, slow inhales of sleep.

 

* * *

 

Lucy knew she and Wyatt were being shadows, but she really didn’t care. Wherever Flynn was, that was where they wanted to be.

Now that they were being more offensive against Rittenhouse, it wasn’t a life of constantly jumping when the alarm went off. They would plan and go on trips, and it was a game of attack, counterattack. It was chess, as Jiya put it one night during a strategy session.

That meant that Denise was able to plan some of the teams, and gave Lucy, Wyatt, and Flynn—obviously, since he was still struggling with a bullet wound—a few days off.

She had so many questions. What had they done in this timeline? Gone after Emma’s mother? Been aggressive in other ways? How had they attacked Rittenhouse, how had Rittenhouse struck back?

Then, of course, there were the questions about her relationship with Flynn. Had he still taught Wyatt to waltz? Did he still bake? Was his D&D character still a warlock? Did he still instinctively catch her when she threw herself at him?

Flynn didn’t seem to mind that he now had two ducklings following him all over. Or if he did mind, he was doing a fantastic job of hiding it. He seemed to even bask in the attention a little, a slight pink color sliding into his cheeks when one or both of them would stare at him all starry eyed (as she knew both she and Wyatt were doing).

Slowly, though, without even really noticing it… it started to be okay.

She could wake up to Flynn already out of bed and not have a panic attack, as she did the first time, causing him to dash back into the bedroom and hold her as she struggled to breathe, shaking. She could leave the room he was in and go do something and come back knowing he’d be there, not rushing through a meal or a shower and then racing back to make sure he hadn’t vanished.

They couldn’t go on missions without him. The first time Denise suggested it, Wyatt had grabbed Flynn’s hand and gripped it so tightly that his knuckles were white and boney against his skin.

But she was starting to think that someday they would.

She was even starting to dare to think that maybe… someday not too far off, they wouldn’t have to go on any other missions at all.

But until then—she’d do what Flynn said.

She’d keep fighting. Until there was nothing left to fight for, until the world was ash and she was burnt with it, until everything fell away, she would keep fighting.


End file.
